


Sands of Time

by SylverStorms



Category: League of Legends
Genre: Angst, Blood and Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Smut, F/F, Language warnings because Katarina exists, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, References to Depression, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, tons of angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-22
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:55:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 28
Words: 129,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24325381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SylverStorms/pseuds/SylverStorms
Summary: The Du Couteaus survived an ordeal meant to destroy them by the skin of their teeth, but lost face with the Noxian Elite. When the smoke settled, they were called to prove themselves worthy of their seat among Noxus’ most influencial Houses once more.Cassiopeia finds herself locked in a struggle against their hidden foes, all while her every action is haunted by her own greatest enemy –herself. There is no escape, she believes, from her personal nightmare other than death...Until a certain summoner makes her see things differently.
Relationships: Ashe/Katarina Du Couteau, Cassiopeia Du Couteau/Original Character(s), Cassiopeia/Triana
Comments: 242
Kudos: 303





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So! This story loosely follows my Katarina x Ashe fic, ''The Fire in Ice'' but you don't need to have read that to understand what is going on here. Kat and Ashe's relationship is established but is secondary to the main romance, because is this Cassiopeia's time to shine and the older sister can't steal the spotlight. 
> 
> MAJOR warnings: The fic starts out with our protagonist, Cass, in a really bad mental state -and she has been highly unstable since her transformation. Like in Elise's lore, her beauty was so deeply intertwined with her life it *defined* it. When she believed she lost that, she felt she lost everything. There are scattered mentions of attempted suicide, like in the tags of the story. And she is dealing with depression. So if this triggers you, this fic will not be your cup of tea (And this is why I am putting the notes before the chapter).

__

_“Grand as its reign shall remain its history. A shining glory, upon the light of day. Yet at night, wonder not of the nightingale that weeps for the legend lost within the sands of time.” -Translation of the engraving upon the Shuriman Stele excavated outside of Noxus. The artifact now resides in the Du Couteau estate._

**[Cassiopeia]**

_Cold._

_Dark._

_Humid._ ****

_Past cobweb-filled steps and dusted bejewelled arches, the air was so stale it was nearly clogging her airways. Denser and denser the deeper in they headed, far below the sand, where no man had stepped for thousands of years. Cassiopeia’s lungs filled with ambition rather than oxygen on every shallow inhale._

_Then they were filling with the scent of_ blood _._

_They had been expecting traps when they first stepped into the Emperor’s Tomb –but reality was far more terrifying than any expectation. It was like walking into a minefield. Like staring death right in the eye._

_Mercenaries fell. Screams bounced off walls, off her fair skin. Crimson coated the underside of her thousand-gold boots yet she kept going, lime-green eyes alight with desire. The prize her family sought for years was finally so close she could almost_ taste _it._

 _Power that would be hers to take. To control. To_ own _._

_Cassiopeia pushed forward despite Sivir’s suggestions to turn back._

_Only the two of them made it to the burial chamber alive._

_Yet the grandiose they witnessed there was enough to render every sacrifice worth it. Pillars of pure gold extended from the ground up,_ _decorated by hyeroglyphs and magic braziers burning with undying fire. Fire that hadn’t gone out in the passing of eons –that never would. Beneath their orange light stood piles of glimmer and riches; coins, accessories and statues that shimmered like stars in a night sky._

_Sivir was lulled by the sight. Cassiopeia was drawn towards her own siren’s call; the massive sealed gates calling at the end of the tomb. Her dream was finally coming to life._

_All that remained was—_

_One final sacrifice._

_And she cared about Sivir, somewhere in her black heart she knew she did... but sadly for her, Cassiopeia would always care about power_ more _._

_Dainty fingers closed around a fallen mercenary’s sword. Her hand shook for merely a second._

_Then she was plunging the blade through her guide’s –her lover’s– heart._

_Blood flowed, dripped onto the markings on the floor, rich like betrayal._

_There was no affection nor mercy in Cassiopeia’s eyes as she watched Sivir gasp out her final breath. With that, every barrier holding her back had been torn down. She took the Chalikar from the Shuriman woman’s unmoving hand and walked towards her destiny._

_At the side of the twin gates, filled with murals depicting a terrible fight between good and evil, light and darkness, lay a giant guardian snake. Its eyes were made of raw emeralds, almost alive as it stood with its brass jaws agape, the lock hidden in their depths._

_Cassiopeia stepped up to it. Reached in..._

_The Chalikar clicked into place. Turned._

_And—_

_The jaws clamped down, crushing marrow and bone in their path._

_A sharp scream was ripped from her throat, filling the entire room. It was the first of many, for then came the true terror._

_Then came_ venom _._

 _Excruciating. Hellfire. The liquid agony scorched down to the last cell, to the last molecule. It reshaped her spine, bent her long, shapely legs into something else, something scaly that thrashed and slithered along the ground as she cried for help. Half of her nails twisted into sharp claws that left jagged lines on the steps as she writhed. Her smooth, fair skin hardened into impenetrable porcelain. Luxurious dyed-blonde curls burned to_ coals _._

_All the while, the ringing in her ears made it impossible to hear her own screams—_

She always woke like that, tail coiled so tightly around herself every single scale _burned_. Then again, everything those days did. Her hands were shaking like frail flowers in the wind. Sweat adorned her brow.

Slitted green eyes scanned the room frantically for any signs of danger. Yet there was nothing to haunt her there, not physically. All her ghosts lay in the past, along with her old life, buried inside a chamber miles below surface.

All that was left in that mockery of an existence was pain. It wouldn’t lessen. It wouldn’t stop.

It had already been three years –she had come to accept it would _never_ stop.

...

Morning light greeted the noblewoman with a splitting headache.

Cassiopeia, pouring over her spies’ reports for the better part of the night, pushed the papers out of the way to bring her palms up over her strained eyes. Sleeplessness, stress and overthinking made for a killer cocktail mix. Even worse that there was nothing she could take to ease the pounding at her temples, since the venom in her system dissolved pills before they could even begin to help or harm her.

She’d tried the latter, way back when she was _actively_ trying to die, during the first months of her transformation.

She’d tried a lot of things.

 _You just have to bear it._ she told herself. _You just have to get through another day, as quiet and solitary as p—_

A loud knock came on her door. Amplified by her enhanced senses, the sound was a shot straight through her brain.

Cassiopeia grit her fangs and covered her ears with her palms. “Go away.” she hissed at the obnoxious asshole she knew stood outside her chambers. 

Katarina.

Who had the audacity to turn the handle – _great_ , Cassiopeia had left it unlocked— and enter her room like it was her birthright. “Morning.” A casual wave came.

The younger noble pinned her with a death glare. “Did I say to come in?”

“I took your silence as affirmation.” Katarina retorted, absently flipping a knife between her fingers.

“I said to go _away_.”

“Yeah, but I pretended I didn’t hear it.”

Cassiopeia took a deep, calming breath that wasn’t nearly as soothing as it should be. Precious few seconds of silence followed. Sadly, they were not meant to last.

“…You okay?” The sound once again penetrated her ears.

“Stop yelling, you’re making my headache worse.”

“I’m not yelling.” Katarina frowned, but did lower her voice a merciful amount.

“Alright then stop _talking_.” the younger sibling snapped.

The redhead moved to lean against her couch, a respectful distance from her –always farther than her claws could reach, she’d made her promise. Cassiopeia locked her muscles down just in case. She hadn’t lost control in quite a long time, but early memories of that scenario left no room for carelessness. Especially around Katarina. Her sister had a talent for getting on her nerves. 

“Look. I get you’re having a bad day –and I am probably going to make it worse.” she began.

“When do you make it better?” 

Green eyes, two shades darker than her own, rolled. “Swain has called for an urgent meeting.” Cassiopeia pinched the bridge of her nose. “And before you suggest something stupid like going by myself, my answer is: no _fucking_ way.” Katarina said. “I’m not sitting in that room trying to translate their unsaid bullshit and endless political implications.”

She had a point. If the meeting was urgent it was important. Which also rendered it unavoidable. Begrudgingly, Cassiopeia rose from her seat. “Give me five minutes.” she drawled. 

The noblewoman slithered over to her vanity mirror. The glass part, framed by eloquent dark wood, was covered by a thick velvet drape, same as any other reflective surface in the room. The last thing she needed was catching a glimpse of her appalling appearance –and losing her mind all over again. At that point, the furniture served more as a shelf for her perfumes and accessories rather than anything else, a habit from the past that was hard to break.

As a Lady of Noxus, she had to make an effort to appear well-composed, in control, no matter how she felt. It was a lucky thing pretending had always come as natural as breathing to her.

There wasn’t much to do about her image, considering she kept her auburn hair mostly concealed by her headpiece in a stylish updo. She didn’t touch it and she didn’t want to draw attention to it, a fact that stemmed from past trauma rather than something actually being wrong with it.

Her beautiful, flawlessly-styled locks had been completely burnt by the poison in the Emperor’s Tomb. The memory of shaving it all off so it could regrow was vivid in her head –and nearly as scarring as her transformation.

Most noble women in Noxus kept their hair long; a sign of status, wealth and power. For years, she had lost even _that_. So, by the time it grew to reach the middle of her back once more, Cassiopeia couldn’t even bring herself to leave the headpiece aside. An unreasonable fear gripped at her gut when she’d tried, like discarding an anchor, like she was risking losing parts of herself all over again by the simple act of exposing them to sunlight.

Cassiopeia got dressed in a designer top and a matching set of earrings and bracelets that cost a small fortune. She sprayed on some perfume, her favorite, custom-made fragrance of azaleas and woody undertones, before she joined Katarina outside.

The redhead looked up from her phone. Glared.

“What.” the younger Du Couteau glared back.

“That wasn’t _five_ fucking minutes.”

“Don’t be such a baby.” Cassiopeia waved her hand dismissively.

Together, the pair made their way down the red-carpeted Noxian wing of the Institute, donning the masks expected of them for the meeting to come.

…

Just when things couldn’t get any more stressful.

Swain announced that the date was set for the long-awaited match against Demacia, to finally settle the two kingdoms’ disputes over the land caught between their two northern borders. Since no more battles were outright fought in Runeterra and almost everything was decided through the League, it wasn’t an exaggeration to say the gathering was a call to arms.

The match was more than just a game for influence—

It was a _war_.

And they had to win that war. For the glory of Noxus.

“It will be a seven-versus-seven deathmatch.” Swain dropped the second bomb on them.

The Champions seated at the long, rectangle table underneath their nation’s banner exchanged looks. Most straightened in their chairs, no matter how subtly, upon the revelation. Cassiopeia’s eye did not miss any details. Meanwhile, her body language was kept schooled to a dead-even calm, beside Katarina.

“I have already decided on the line-up, but you all will play a role in the interviews to come. You know the image you must project.” the general spoke.

Cassiopeia could already form a team in her head, according to the Demacian champions’ innate weaknesses. Her guesses were never wrong, so she leaned back and waited for the inevitable.

It was certain Katarina would be part of the seven. Swain was a master tactician. He knew better than anyone else that influence over the masses was often half the victory and there was nobody who appealed to people better than her sister. The bad, sexy playgirl of Noxus. Its face and pride, its sharpest tool and heartbreaker covergirl, that fans dropped to their knees over.

Everything the assassin hated. Everything Cassiopeia was once meant to be.

Loved by the lens. Loved by all.

_The irony._

A sharp, vile pang of jealousy rose from within her. She fought to drown it.

“Darius will be at the top lane. Draven and I at the bottom.”

 _Predictable_ , Cassiopeia thought. What came after, though, shook her still waters like an earthquake birthing forth a tsunami.

“Talon will start with Elise at the upper jungle and join Darius up top at level three. Katarina, you will begin at the lower jungle and repeatedly gank bottom. Cassiopeia, I trust upon you our mid.”

The Serpent’s Embrace froze. Silent as a statue, twice as unmoving. The gears in the back of her mind halted to a stop… before kicking into a painful overdrive _._ It wasn’t like she could hear something _wrong_ with her inhuman senses, but a pinch was in order, to make sure she wasn’t dreaming, wasn’t having another nightmare.

But no. It was all real.

Katarina’s sharp inhale by her side, Talon’s alarmed expression at the far end of the table, confirmed it. Elise caught her eye from the opposite side.

“Any objections?” Swain asked for the sake of asking. It wasn’t like anyone present could object to the Grand General of Noxus without consequences.

Cassiopeia numbly met his gaze. It was cold, unwavering, endlessly calculating. For once, she could _not_ figure out the motive behind his actions. It wasn’t often the two of them weren’t on the same page. It was even rarer that his decision seemed like utter madness to her.

 _Do you want to punish us for what happened that badly?_ she thought. _Succeed where Zeke couldn’t and bury us ten feet under?_ Three members of the Du Couteau House in the single most important match of Noxus in the recent _years_. If they lost, defeat would be pinned on them. Not like the Elite needed much reason to rend them apart. This would give them the perfect excuse.

“Dismissed.”

As the rest of the champions moved to leave, Cassiopeia continued to observe him for an answer. The very edge of his mouth curved upwards, so subtly it could have been a twitch. But for someone who had mastered the art of controlling their every breath like she had…

Nothing was random.

Yes, if they lost they would be destroyed.

But if they won…

They would be beyond redeemed. Esteemed once more, feared and respected in a way their family name hadn’t been since their father disappeared.

 _A saving grace or a death sentence._ She realized. That was what Swain was offering and simultaneously cursing them with.

They _absolutely_ could not afford to lose that match.

**[Katarina]**

Considering her life, it really shouldn’t be that astonishing to her how a day could go from ‘meh’ to all-out ‘ _fuck’_ within a few hours.

But it was.

Katarina walked down the crowded corridors of the Institute of War, trying –and failing— not to be bothered by every little thing going on around her. The summoners that stared at her with hearts for eyes, the stupid faces of many other fellow champions she wanted to do _in_. Demacians breathing in general. To say she was pissed off was an understatement. Beside her, Talon was being quieter and far moodier than usual.

That aggravated her, too.

She opened her mouth to say something to him, along the lines of ‘stop sulking, you’re making my nerves flare worse’, but the sound of his phone ringing –a boring, default ringtone which made her grimace that he still hadn’t changed it— gave her pause.

“Cassiopeia?” he answered. Green eyes snapped up to him. “…right now?” Katarina strained her ears to catch her sister’s voice on the other end, but the hallways were too damn _noisy_. “Well… I have a ranked match.” Talon replied, the slightest tad hesitant.

 _“Had.”_ Cassiopeia’s tone left no room for argument. Sharp and cutting like a knife. Katarina could barely recall a time when she was anything but. The youngest Du Couteau hang up without another word.

Talon huffed. Turned to the redhead. “I should go. Though it really sucks that I have to stand this particular summoner up. She’s on a winning streak and on promos to boot.”

For Talon to say something of the sort, Katarina gathered that the woman was good. Deserving of the next rank. “Promos for?”

“Gold-one.” he spoke. “But she only started her ranked matches recently. I have no doubt she’ll rise higher.”

Katarina nodded. A teasing smirk crossed her lips the next moment. “She hot?”

Talon’s dark eyes rolled. “No idea, we’ve only spoken telepathically until now. But since I’m going to cost her League points, I doubt we’re meeting anytime soon.”

The redhead mulled it over in her head. On one hand, she didn’t really give a damn about some newbie summoner’s ranking. On the other, she was well-aware the League’s opportunities to rise were very… particular. One bad match, one dodged match weighting negatively on someone’s image, could be detrimental to their career. And one never knew if a summoner currently in gold would grow into the next superstar kingdoms fought to embrace in their colors. Noxus was _really_ running low on those, the past year.

And at the end of the day, a certain white-haired queen had taught her she wasn’t as much of a bitch as the world thought. As she thought. So, Katarina took out her pocket-sized checkbook and put a few zeroes on the first page. It was a move taken out of Cassiopeia’s arsenal, but the assassin had seen how effective blatantly waving money at someone’s face could be.

“Tell me her name and I’ll make sure she’s compensated.” she said.

“Triana.” Talon replied.

If there was a tiny spark of gratitude in his eyes, in the subtle curve of his lip, she chose to ignore it.

…

Katarina lacked the patience to bother with pleasantries, more often than not.

On the waiting queue outside one of the many rookie arenas, she walked right up to the team of summoners, who froze seeing her up close and asked: “Which one of you fishes is Triana?”

It took them a bit to form words. She’d forgotten how annoyingly much like fans new summoners behaved. Katarina tapped her boot on the ground. One of them finally mustered the courage to point behind her, at the same time as a smooth voice reached her ears.

“That would be me.”

The redhead turned to the fifth member of the team, casually leaning against the wall, an air of calm superiority about her. A stark contradiction to the rest, practically buzzing with anxiety. Even with the unappealing rookie robes, too baggy on some and too short on others, Katarina’s trained eye could make out her nice physique, but, sadly, nothing else. Her face was obscured by the dark hood many low-level summoners chose to keep up, not a single feature visible beneath it.

When Katarina approached her, she pushed off the wall. Stood respectfully, without losing her ground. _Huh_. The assassin thought. _Promising_.

“I assume Talon won’t be making it, then.” There was the slightest hint of disappointment in her voice. A faint accent, as well, which Katarina couldn’t quite place. “I guess I’m going to dodge. Thank you for letting me know.”

That… was a very calm reaction. The assassin scanned her from head to toe. An idea came to mind. “On a scale of one to ten –one being shit and ten being a god— how good would you say you do with Talon?”

A tiny, throaty chuckle escaped the summoner. “What’s the correct number for you to take his place?”

A deadly smirk crossed Katarina’s lips. “Ten.”

“Alright, then ten.”

The redhead was getting Noxian vibes from the mage. And that made her _very_ curious. “You have two options, Goldie.” she said. “Take this money and don’t waste my time…” Deft, calloused fingers waved the check in the air. “Or. Risk losing more than a few points, because I’m not in a good mood.” 

“I’ll take my chances with option two.” she spoke.

Katarina tore the check in half and waited by her side.

 _Intriguing_.

...

The summoner-champion bond was... a tricky thing.

There was no textbook description of how it should be, what was right and wrong. Every summoner’s energy felt different connected to her own, their will and mind something singular. Strange, more often than not. A pair’s affinity was akin to chemistry between two people, but it was also _more_ , in a way Katarina couldn’t put into words.

Triana felt warm, in the furthest edges of her mind. Not warm like a gentle hold, but warm like power, like assurance. The way she guided the Sinister Blade across the Rift wasn’t restrictive, as many bonds tended to feel for her, but directive, guiding.

At six minutes in, her voice came in Katarina’s head. _“Get ready. The enemy jungler is killing their raptors. You’re getting ganked in a few seconds.”_

 _“How can you tell?”_ she mentally asked.

_“Ryze has been hesitating the slightest bit before approaching your knives, yet now he’s doing it freely. And from the few times Rengar has been spotted by wards, it’s become apparent he always leans just a tad towards the side he’s on.”_

Katarina blinked. Accidently missed a minion. That explanation, that attention to detail, it reminded her of someone else. And in all her years of fighting in the League, nobody had ever reminded her of—

 _“Now!”_ Triana said. _“Shunpo to your knife and duck.”_

 _“Are you crazy?”_ To be asked to jump between a hidden Rengar and Ryze, on half health—

_“Trust me.”_

Trust… wasn’t an easy thing for Katarina. The people she trusted could be counted on the fingers of one hand… but Triana sounding so much like one of them helped.

She decided to yolo it. And if the Goldie messed up and made her look like she was inting… Katarina had a ton of colorful words in her vocabulary to decorate her with.

A pull— and she was picking up her knife. Rengar was baited by the opportunity to leap onto her, while Katarina was urged to duck. Triana’s control over her guided her arm up… and without doing anything at all, she’d slashed the whole side of the predator. Damn near gutted him like a fish.

Ryze used his spells to stop her, but the assassin rolled away. Threw her knife onto him, which sliced at his shoulder and bounced off. While still in the air, Katarina shunpo’ed and caught it, coming down onto the purple mage like a thunderclap. With her blade embedded in his neck, it was an instant kill. Then she turned towards Rengar, who threw a binding net that narrowly missed her. Another shunpo–Triana’s aura burning with the _Ignite_ spell…

And Katarina was flashed out of the tower’s range, to safety, as the satisfying sound of the announcer calling “Double kill!” echoed across the fields of Justice.

So it continued, every gank expected beforehand, every move calculated, until Katarina was godlike. Triana no longer had to speak for her to move where she tugged; they only became deadlier as a pair as the minutes ticked by. The redhead did not often get to feel so in control, aware of every spot on the map. So…

Precise.

 _“They’re going to surrender.”_ Triana hummed quietly. _“Wanna grab a triple before the finale?”_

Katarina chuckled. They dived straight into the enemy base.

It was only after the surrender came through, costing her a wonderful quadra kill, that the redhead realized she’d been grinning the entire time.

It felt— _good_.

But at the same time… it was over too quickly.

 _“Predictable.”_ Triana huffed, a mirror to what the assassin felt.

It caused the spark of a memory to come to mind, unbidden.

_They had been in the casino for some time, waiting for the target to show up. Katarina was bored out of her mind, entirely drained of energy from all the people coming over to chat her up. The most she could bother with was putting on a fake smile –that she was certain came across as a grimace anyway— as she pictured ways to shut their mouths permanently._

_Cassiopeia, sensing the steadily-approaching end of her patience in the way only she could, effortlessly swooped in and steered all eyes towards herself. Katarina gazed at her profile, so, so charming as she tirelessly engaged the arrogant pricks of nobles around them in conversation. The redhead had no idea how she_ did _it. Yet her little sister always fitted right in, never grew sick of being the center of attention._

_Some people were just born for the spotlight._

_She was more than comfortable in her shadows._

_She’d only step out of them to do another pretty girl that caught her eye, then slide right back in._

_As soon as their target walked into the casino, Katarina excused herself while Cassiopeia worked her magic –didn’t have to work hard— to get him alone._

_The assassin slid into the dark room where the pair was, before the asshole could even_ think _to lay a finger on her sister –and drew her blade across his throat with a very self-satisfied smirk._

_“You do realize I could have just poisoned him.” Cassiopeia raised a perfectly arched eyebrow._

_“Where’s the fun in that?” Katarina asked as she helped her climb out the window and across the roof to their escape route._

_“Because getting messy is_ so _fun.” Light green eyes rolled, laced with sarcasm._

_The streets of Noxus’ capital were quiet at night, silent even, as they made their way back to their mansion. Cassiopeia’s heels tic-tac’ed on the cold stone. The glitter in her hair under the moonlight bathed her in an otherworldly glimmer. Katarina would never, not a billion years, admit it, but she enjoyed the missions where they worked together._

_“Father won’t be very pleased. We took longer than expected.”_

_Katarina wanted to say that he never was, anyway, yet held her tongue. “I swear it’s kind of creepy how you act like you can see the future sometimes.”_

_Cassiopeia laughed. It was easy to see why heartbeats accelerated from that laugh. Why nobles stumbled over themselves, rows upon rows of suitors at their door, asking for her hand in marriage. “I wish.” she said. “But you need to realize people are a network of actions and reactions. If you know what to look for, how to look, they are so very easy to predict.”_

_Katarina went to shake her head –but Cassiopeia’s fingers at the side of her chin halted the motion. It was almost like having her thoughts read. Deep green eyes widened._

_Another laugh._

_“See? Predictable.”_

It made sense after that why Katarina hadn’t wanted that match to end. Not just for the satisfaction of more kills…

But because talking to Triana felt so much like talking to Cassiopeia. A lively, confident, past version of Cassiopeia. And she’d _missed_ that.

“So… ten?” the summoner chuckled under the shadows of her hood.

Katarina feigned disinterest. Shrugged. “Couldn’t really tell.”

“How about one more game, so you can tell?”

_Sneaky little shit._

“You’re on.”

…

All good things came to an end.

In Katarina’s life, they did so abruptly, shockingly, coldly. She had almost gotten used to it. Her good moods tended not to last because they weren’t _allowed_ to last.

The reason why Cassiopeia had called Talon became clear as soon as Katarina was also summoned to her room, that same evening.

The last time the three of them had been in those same positions, Talon against the wall, Katarina on the couch and Cassiopeia barely keeping herself from pacing, it had sparked a chain of events that nearly exterminated them as a whole. Bearing that in mind, it was no wonder the redhead wasn’t exactly looking forward to what her sister had to say.

“Alright. Since you’re the only one who doesn’t know this yet, Katarina, our two best summoners have been assassinated.” she said, quick, like ripping off a band-aid.

_Well, fuck._

A wave of nausea rose from the pit of the assassin’s stomach. “A warning would have been nice.” she replied with sarcasm, to mask everything else she was feeling at that moment.

“I expected our enemies would go after them –and I did call them to leave Noxus immediately and return to the Institute. Sadly, they decided to act like fools and compromise _everything_.”

“Which is why you sent Talon.” Katarina realized.

“And I found them too late.” the man commented. “And too dead.”

“This is just fucking great.” she threw her arms up.

“I have a few summoners in mind, but I can’t say I like nor trust any of them to stand beside us in the Grand Stage. They just don’t tick all the boxes –except maybe one– so they’re only a last resort.” Cassiopeia said. “All Challengers and GrandMasters under the banner of our kingdom are taken by the rest of the Noxian champions. Masters are terribly disappointing.”

“So… what are our options here?” Talon asked, probably not seeing any. Katarina didn’t, either.

“We search for new summoners. I hear there have been _many_ promising arrivals this year. And although we are still short on money, _I_ am not short on connections. Find someone who has the talent and the attitude –of _any_ rank— and I can push them to at least Diamond, so they can compete.”

Katarina and Talon exchanged a look.

Naturally, Cassiopeia caught it.

“I do have someone in mind.” the redhead spoke up.

“Great. I’ll have to see you and your summoner in action—”

“For you.” Katarina cut her off.

Lines creased Cassiopeia’s forehead. A mixture of disbelief and intrigue danced in her lime eyes.

“She’s good.” Talon nodded. “And I agree. She’d make a fitting pair for you.”

“It is weird to hear you two speak of someone with such certainty.” she commented, crossing her arms. “And I’d be lying to say I trust your judgement.” was added. “But, I suppose, a try couldn’t hurt.”

Katarina knew she could find a talented summoner among the thousands in the League to match her violent instincts, her rage, or at least some of her most prominent aspects. Talon could find someone fiercely loyal, cold and steadfast.

Cassiopeia was the difficult case.

Because she was never really aligned, not the slightest bit, with _anyone_ , in all her years of being in the Institute. Not even their own ‘main’ Challengers, who were killed.

So, Katarina knew, deep down, if Triana wasn’t the one…

Nobody was.


	2. Chapter 2

**[Cassiopeia]**

It was odd for Katarina and Talon to agree on something.

On a summoner, no less.

The qualities each of them looked for in a partner were vastly different –as vast as the gap between their personalities themselves. Katarina, more often than not, was lagged behind by Talon’s chosen mages and their safe playstyle. Talon, in turn, was usually overwhelmed by the extreme aggressiveness Katarina’s choices all had in common. Cassiopeia had never truly been able to do great with any summoner. Period.

Good, yes. Never great.

And the reasons were many. Not all of them her fault, as certain whispers within the Institute liked to claim.

Cassiopeia was _not_ making herself impossible to work with on _purpose_. If anything, her past as a diplomat rendered it easy to mould herself into a role that better aligned her mind with another person’s. One look at people was enough for her to tell how they were going to react under pressure –and she _did_ try to act accordingly.

She had nothing to gain by holding the label of one of League’s hardest to control champions. Right up there with Nocturne, Fiddlesticks and Kayle. Yet from a few… unfortunate events involving summoners from the early months of her joining –her transformation had been too fresh and she’d lashed out of control at one thing or another– Cassiopeia managed to earn the bad reputation.

Summoners were petrified around her.

Often to an extreme; to the point even pros forgot the basics in the Rift. There was no remedy for the cold waves of intimidation she inspired within the newer mages –and the professional, faceless front more experienced ones put up to hide that very feeling was essentially no better.

At some point, Cassiopeia gave up on trying to change her infamy. She’d given up on most things, what was one more to add to the list?

At some point, she donned the very colors of the monster they’d already painted her with.

And there Katarina and Talon were, suddenly telling her this talented new mage would make a good match for her, right when she needed one the most. Cassiopeia had held herself back from outright shaking her head at her siblings. There were no hopes left in her to get up, but she had decided to humor them, if only to prove them wrong.

“Arrange me a ranked match with this summoner.” Cassiopeia said to Talon. “I want the stakes to be high for her.” And should the girl refuse to risk her win-streak with a champion she would be bonding with for the first time, she was not the right one for their plans, anyway. It would save the noblewoman the trouble.

That night, Talon had gotten back to her. Her phone had lit up with a text from him; ‘ _Triana agreed without hesitation. Your match is tomorrow at eleven a.m., arena five.’_

 _Daring._ Cassiopeia thought. _But that doesn’t mean anything._

She’d learned the hard way just how _far_ one could fall from the weight of their own expectations.

She was a monster. Inside, outside. Who could possibly stand on equal ground with her, without cowering in terror?

…

The nightmares came for her every night.

Again and again. Never-ending.

Sometimes, the events of that cursed day replayed exactly as they’d occurred, right down to the smallest detail. Other times, the plane of her dreams changed things slightly. Sivir’s voice usually came, far and distant, still laced with the burn of her betrayal:

_“You poisoned your own heart.”_

There were silhouettes dancing behind her burning eyes as Cassiopeia writhed, drowned in her terrors. Her memories, already distorted by the trauma, made it impossible to tell if she had actually experienced the things she witnessed in her sleep or they were all her subconscious’ fabrications.

Rekenton’s mad howls as he burst out of those gates…

Xerath’s unearthly light that followed behind like an apocalypse let loose.

And then—

_A dark figure was leaning over Cassiopeia’s shuddering, venom-scorched form. Spoke something that was impossible for her to hear over the sound of her own screaming. The darkness moved closer –a soothing chill in the onslaught of fire across her veins._

_“Mah seh’thir.”_

_Cool digits met her forehead._

_“Khalad.”_

_Then, the world faded away._

Cassiopeia sat up with a gasp. Kept her eyes firmly shut to shove the memories as far away as possible –but they always lingered too close for comfort. In the jumbled mess that was her mind, she tried to recall what that figure looked like, to no avail. The words it had spoken eluded her, as did the truth of what had truly transpired after the poison entered her bloodstream in that tomb. After countless nightmares, even the bits and pieces she could remember could not be trusted as the truth.

The noblewoman rose and slithered over to her desk. There were no piles of reports to busy herself with, so she dared reach into her drawer, sealed with a password known only to her and retrieve a single, burnt tome.

Her mother’s ruined notes on the Emperor’s Tomb.

Cassiopeia was tortured by the thought some light about her situation could have been found in those pages had they not been decimated. Against her better judgement, she was chocking on hope that perhaps there was _something_ there she may have, somehow, overlooked…!

What little of the writings remained told her nothing new.

Hieroglyphs she went over a thousand times only to come to the same _damn_ translations.

Cassiopeia’s temples gave a violent throb. Jade scales coiled tightly –too tightly. Her heart pounded against her chest so loudly it was deafening to her own ears. The world was slowing, tilting, fracturing.

Shattering.

She brought both palms onto her head as if to fight off the coming panic attack. _Breathe. Just breathe._ She repeated to herself.

A flood of memories came crashing to the forefront of her mind. 

_“You know I don’t deal in ‘thank you’s.”_

_“Alright, then, what do you want?”_

_“The truth.” she said, firm. “Did father leave because of me?”_

_Katarina visibly straightened. Didn’t breathe. “…He left because of_ me _.”_

_“Did he ask you to kill me?” Cassiopeia pressed. The answer was obvious in her sister’s eyes. She didn’t know how she’d missed it for so long. It wasn’t like Katarina was as good as her at hiding the things that broke her. That kept breaking her. “He did, didn’t he.” Cassiopeia’s excellently controlled expression faltered for a mere heartbeat. She didn’t let it slip completely. She didn't think she could get it back under control if it did._

_Katarina’s hold tightened on her wrist. “Don’t disappear again.”_

Easy for her to say.

It was _so_ easy for her to say!

Cassiopeia had no idea when she’d risen from her seat and started pacing across her room. But the space suddenly felt too small to fit her, too much like a prison. Too much like the rest of her life.

In a heap of unrestrained rage, she grabbed the thing closest to her –it happened to be a Noxian-styled vase filled with fresh roses— and flung it towards the opposite wall. A loud _smash_ echoed throughout the night. Her chest heaved as she desperately tried to reign herself back under control.

Crushed petals amidst broken pieces glared back at her.

Those flowers had been beautiful moments ago.

But nothing beautiful could linger safely around her for long.

…

Cassiopeia was in a foul mood.

It hadn’t gotten any better by the time she got to the arena. The summoners there, tensing at the sight of her, definitely didn’t aid in that department. She could only hope that none of those wimps was the one Talon and Katarina spoke so highly of, because otherwise her siblings were going to _hear_ every—

“Good morning.” a warm voice greeted from Cassiopeia’s side. Her steps had been so light she nearly hadn’t noticed her approach. But she could smell her thanks to her inhuman senses; a quite attractive mix of expensive body oils, with the added hint of honey and pond lilies underneath. “It is an honor, Lady Cassiopeia.” the summoner said, inclining her head ever-so-slightly under her hood.

And _oh_ —she had an accent. It sounded… oddly familiar.

The noblewoman brushed aside the fact she secretly found particular intonations _very_ appealing and gave the girl points for manners, alone.

“Triana, I assume.” she spoke, chin high, scanning the mage from top to bottom. Lithe. Held herself confidently but not arrogantly.

Perhaps a bit too calmly, around her.

 _Let's see how long that lasts._ Cassiopeia thought darkly. She felt challenged, for some reason. Part of her wanted to prove that there could be no normal person standing near her without backing out, without shaking like a leaf caught in a gust of wind.

Absently, claws raised between them, closing around the summoner’s shoulder. Sharp inhales came from their teammates— but Triana didn’t even shift. At _all_. Cassiopeia would tell if she had tensed. Her eyes saw _everything_. But the girl stood there so casually she was either a massive fool or unbelievably blind to danger.

_…Is she for real?_

“So, do I owe this match to Talon, Katarina, or luck?” she asked.

Cassiopeia tapped a claw against her shoulder in warning before she withdrew her hand back to her side. “You think I believe in luck, summoner?” Light, slitted orbs narrowed.

“Opportunity, then.” she side-stepped Cassiopeia’s jab with what sounded like a smile. That accent was _really_ helping her case far too much.

“So, think of this as your once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.” she said.

But the stress she attempted to trip out of the woman didn’t come. It was obvious, in the way the summoner extended her the mental invitation to bond. There was no falter in her aura, no distortion to the flow of her energy.

“How lucky.” Triana smirked, Cassiopeia could tell, as she accepted the link. Both of them were cautious to tread into uncharted territory, but both of them hid it well.

 _How peculiar._ The Serpent’s Embrace thought, mindful to keep that part to herself.

…

The rift was a familiar, ever-changing place.

The modifiers of every match could shift the magic-constructed landscape in the blink of an eye; and they were unlucky enough to get ‘ _lush jungle’_ for their game. Which meant the junglers would have the time of their lives with the added tall bushes throughout the map, while Cassiopeia had to expect danger at every corner. _The joy._

It was to be expected, of course. Luck hadn’t exactly been on her side for the past years.

The first few minutes ticked by, mostly spent learning how to sync together, taking baby-steps in the new bond. It didn’t feel… entirely unpleasant. A fact Cassiopeia would keep to herself until the end of days.

Triana wasn’t invasive and she never pulled too powerfully –even when the noblewoman made herself harder to control on purpose, to test her. She didn’t seem prejudiced against her like most summoners and was calm enough to not panic at the lag Cassiopeia intentionally caused. Above all… she wasn’t _afraid_ to handle her.

Considering that, it was a little bit sad that their teammates were starting to feed the enemy Lee Sin. _That’s going to be a problem_. the heiress thought. They had very little vision and the others were pinging all over the place for no apparent reason…

Triana’s aura flared with frustration for a moment. She schooled it back down fast.

At eleven minutes in, Malzahar’s movements changed. Cassiopeia’s eye caught it immediately, the motions signalling alarm bells, but she kept quiet, curious to see if Triana noticed.

 _“We’re getting ganked.”_ the mage huffed. Cassiopeia was low on mana. Malzahar advanced in a way he probably thought was subtle. It wasn’t. _“I think our best option is to bait it out.”_

 _“Agreed.”_ the noble nodded, pretended to be unaware as she slithered forward for a minion—

 _“Let him hit you.”_ said Triana.

Cassiopeia could have dodged Lee Sin’s attack but let herself be marked. The second his shadow loomed over her for the close-up strike, the summoner’s control urged her to lift her gauntlet up. Not to block, she realized –to _redirect_. Lee Sin lost his delicate balance in mid-air and a powerful sweep of her tail sent him crashing back into her tower. Before Malzahar’s minions could leap at her, a carefully-placed noxious blast caught him, giving her the speed boost she needed to outrun him.

Lee Sin was flashing out of tower range and towards her—

And Cassiopeia felt an intense surge of certainty and strength.

For a moment, it was almost as if Triana was right there with her, both their hands wrapping around the monk’s throat in a mirrored movement… and _smashing_ him onto the ground.

The force cracked the very earth. _“The blue team has slain an enemy! Shut down!”_ the announcer’s voice echoed over the forest.

Cassiopeia smirked.

Of course, they got camped after that. It very much felt like a two-versus-one, while their team somehow still managed to be losing ground, while their own jungler _still_ had not secured any objectives.

And the lack of vision –it was _maddening_.

Cassiopeia only then realized the gravity-like pull of tension at the lack of sight came from Triana, rather than herself. The summoner absolutely hated being left in the dark. That was certainly useful information to file about her, for later.

As soon as they surrendered a second kill over, Triana’s teammate had the audacity to blame _her_. The calm of her waters rippled for a moment. Something dark stirred in their depths.

Cassiopeia sensed her fix him with a glacial glare. _“You just zip it and put down a_ fucking _ward.”_ He was muted before the situation could escalate.

But the emphasis on the word. She sounded _just_ like Katarina.

 _“It’s impossible to be this stupid. Are these creatures even human?”_ Triana asked, an inquiry that seemed to slip by without her intending it to.

The noblewoman felt her lip curl upwards despite herself. _Apparently,_ _Katarina version two comes with a hot accent._ She shouldn’t be nearly as amused as she was, in a match like that.

 _“Either pull a miracle or get me out this game.”_ Cassiopeia said through their link. 

At thirty minutes, Triana did, in fact, pull a miracle.

In the form of an ult that petrified four people in the Baron pit –and the opposing nexus fell because of that play only.

Their relief was palpable in the air as Cassiopeia stepped out of the teleporting rune. Triana gently terminated their connection. Stress was written across her body language –and so was the urge to deck her teammate right in the jaw. The summoner may have looked and acted like a cooling spring in the heart of summer, but she could boil just as well.

Which was interesting.

 _She_ was interesting, Cassiopeia decided. She refrained from using the word ‘impressive’, even in her own head. But the potential there was undeniable –and that wasn’t something the noblewoman could choose to ignore out of pride.

“Triana.” she called over her shoulder. The summoner’s attention turned to her. “Come to the Noxian wing’s lobby at sunset.” The cordial invitation was extended. “There is business to discuss.”

“Of course.” the summoner said. If she was surprised, it did not show. “I’ll be there.”

…

The Noxian lobby was quiet.

The floor, polished to perfection, gleamed in orange hues cast by the fading sunlight slipping through the large windows all around. Proudly on display behind Cassiopeia’s back stood their kingdom’s banner, the ink-black axe and helmet in a background of crimson red.

The setting was good for a business talk. Imposing enough, yet calm.

Or it _would_ be calm, if only Katarina would _stop_ playing with her damn knives to pass the time. The clicking may have been barely audible to her and Talon, but to Cassiopeia’s sensitive ears it was impossibly annoying.

Suddenly, her arm shot out, catching the knife mid-air before the redhead could. Two sets of green eyes, one deeper than the other, locked in a staring contest. The elder sister’s fingers immediately closed around the handle, pulled –ineffectively. Cassiopeia’s grip was unbending iron.

“Let go.”

“I am barely touching it.” she lied with a completely straight face.

“Bullshit, let _go_ —” A vein popped at Katarina’s temple. The youngest Du Couteau opened her fingers at _just_ the right time, causing a power imbalance that made the assassin stumble half a step back. Talon hid his smirk under his cloak.

Katarina’s no-doubt colourful reply was cut off by Cassiopeia’s gaze snapping to the lobby’s entry, from where she could hear even steps approach.

Triana’s wonderful scent reached her before black robes came into view. Most summoners would tense in front of the Du Couteau trinity, staring them down like a pack of hungry, assessing wolves. Triana was not ‘most’.

Otherwise, she wouldn’t be there to begin with.

“Good evening.” she greeted calmly. “You said you wanted to talk? It sounds important.”

“‘Important’ is an understatement, Triana.” Cassiopeia began. “There is a detrimental match for Noxus coming up and talent is hard to come by, these days. You have caught our eye –and that alone speaks volumes. Continue as you have and many opportunities will present themselves for you.” she chose her next words carefully. “Sponsorships, fame, money. Perhaps, even, an affiliation with a powerful kingdom… and a powerful family.”

Triana seemed to consider the notion. Even Challengers would kill to be associated with their name and their connections. To represent them. It was clear, what Cassiopeia was offering.

“That is certainly interesting.” she commented.

“But, first, I have to be entirely convinced you are worth my investment.” Cassiopeia spoke, pinning the summoner with her eyes. “Insane work hours will be asked of you. Efficiency. You’ll have to prove you have what it takes to stand at the World Stage and not curve under the pressure. And if you do, you have my word you will be _beyond_ handsomely compensated for all of it.”

“I understand.” Triana shifted her weight from one leg to the other. Nodded.

Cassiopeia was then struck by a sudden, intense curiosity, to see what lay underneath the hood, if she really was as perfectly composed as she seemed. It was high time to see eye-to-eye with her promising new summoner… and whether she would hold her petrifying gaze. Not to mention, the future face of their House had to be an acceptable one –by her gargantuan standards.

“Take off your hood.” Cassiopeia commanded, leaving no room for arguments.

Triana’s hands reached up. Caught the edges of the heavy, enchanted fabric…

And pushed it back.

The sound of Talon and Katarina’s jaw hitting the floor echoed in Cassiopeia’s ears, who remained there, unbreathing, frozen in place. Because, by the _gods_ —

She was _stunning_.

Wheat-blond hair fell wildly across tight, lean shoulders. High cheekbones accented a face most likely handcrafted by a deity, tan skin that seemed to glow under the rays of the setting sun. And her _eyes_ –they had to be the most striking pair of hazel eyes Cassiopeia had ever locked gazes with. Positively illuminated with intelligence from within.

An angel must have descended from some higher plane of existence to mock her even further for her fall, because normal people didn’t look so _perfect_.

The noblewoman thought she was always expecting everything, but she wasn’t prepared for _that_. For a moment, it was like Cassiopeia’s powers turned on herself and turned her to stone. It was only a minor detail she initially missed that broke her out of her speechlessness;

At the outer corner of Triana’s right eye curved a darling black mark downwards, like the blade of a scythe. A tattoo, singular to one place in Runeterra—

“You’re from Shurima.” she stated. It wasn’t a question. Her fucking accent made so much sense then, why it seemed so familiar.

“I am.” The goddess of beauty smiled, lips curling in a way that was so attractive it was fatal. Her eyes sparkled as they looked into Cassiopeia’s, unafraid—

And the noblewoman wanted to reach forward with her claws and cut her into pieces.

It _had_ to be a bad joke delivered from the universe straight at her, that the _one_ summoner she could communicate with looked like sex on legs and hailed from the very place that ruined Cassiopeia’s image –her _life_ — irreparably. She couldn’t even _stand_ to look at Triana and not be reminded of everything she lost…

And how in the _world_ was she going to be seen next to her in the grand stage?

Every single plan she had built folded in on itself. Collapsed.

Because Cassiopeia could no longer stomach the sun –and Triana _was_ the sun. She would burn to ash if she got too close. There was a reason the noblewoman avoided the light, degraded as she was. Most importantly…

She couldn't bear the light looking at _her_.

**[Katarina]**

_I fucked up._

_I massively fucked up._

“You fucked _up_.” she snapped at Talon, pausing her pacing across the dark rooftop for a moment.

The man opened his arms, exasperated. “What? I didn’t even speak up first about her.”

He was right, of course. But Katarina was mad and had to direct her nerves somewhere. “Yes but you agreed with me when I did!”

“That doesn’t even make any _sense_.” he growled. 

“You could have _tried_ to see her face before we brought her over. You met her first.”

“And you met her second, so could you!” he said.

Katarina took a deep breath. Pinched the bridge of her nose. The need to go out and kill the shit out of something was very prominent. “I didn’t think –I mean, she’s talented, she’s got manners, she’s got a sexy voice, what were the chances that she would be _this_ hot? One person can’t have everything!” the redhead thought out loud.

Triana was _Ashe_ levels of gorgeous. Exotic and striking in a way that couldn’t be ignored, that drew the eye like moths were drawn to flames. And just when Katarina had been trying to coax her sister out of her depression and self-imposed isolation, she went ahead and presented her with one of the most beautiful women in the world. _Oh, yeah and she’s Shuriman. Fuck me sideways._

Were the gods so intent on shitting on her every five fucking minutes of her life?

It certainly felt that way. And Katarina needed a break.

“What are we going to do now?” Talon huffed.

They were back to square zero.

“Start searching for new summoners.” She was already mentally preparing herself for the unhealthiest experience of the past years. Putting her control in the hands of every useless piece of shit summoner in the Institute would take amounts of patience she knew she didn’t possess. But she also didn’t have another option.

“What are you going to do about this?” Talon asked, making a faint motion with his chin.

“Well, for starters, I’m going to keep Triana away from my sister.” Katarina replied coldly. Kept a knife balanced between her two fingers and looked over its edge. “And if she doesn’t get the memo, I’m going to get _very_ creative.”

The assassin had liked Triana, certainly. Under different circumstances, she would have liked to work with her. But.

Katarina didn’t have any qualms about the blade in her hands finding itself across the summoner’s neck, if it was for Cassiopeia’s own good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When your summoner turns out to be too much of a babe. Triana's on the 'cover' of this story (shown in the first chapter) but feel free to picture her however you like along the lines of her description. 
> 
> Seeing her is like Cassiopeia is being slapped across the face with everything she feels she lacks. The issues she tried to suppress rise back up and threaten to swallow her whole and the fact the woman is from Shurima is like the icing on her horror of a cake. It's safe to say their relationship is off to a rocky start. 
> 
> If you're interested in more, updates will be every week, Friday or Saturday. Your comments mean a lot :)


	3. Chapter 3

**[Cassiopeia]**

Darkness reigned supreme in the Rift.

Slitted emeralds blinked several times. Normally, she would have no problem seeing perfectly in the deep night, right down to the smallest dust particle drifting in the air. The magic of the Fields of Justice, however, stole that advantage away.

Along with many others.

Her heat vision could not activate. Her sense of smell dulled abysmally. Her skin could be cut by blades as easily as any human’s. She’d greatly appreciate that particular change in the real world –but not in the battlefield.

Cassiopeia would be lying to say it didn’t aggravate her to have her strengths stripped away so she could stand on equal ground with all other champions. The League would forever stand behind its idea of balance, between individuals, between nations, but to her it was almost laughable.

 _Nothing_ was created equal in the real world.

Those born into privilege and power would always stand above those that weren’t as lucky. Rarely, if ever, would their roles reverse. Those blessed with beauty would always have an inherent precedence over those that weren’t. Natural talent would trample hard work, despite how people wished to claim otherwise. Noxus, at least, held no such delusions. 

Long, clawed fingers flexed as the barrier around the fountain diminished. Cassiopeia didn’t need to attempt much further movement to gage her bond with her summoner. He was scared, barely able to hide it, but that was nothing new. _It could be worse, I suppose._ She’d experienced far worse. _So why, then, does it feel like he’s lagging me behind so darn much?_

The noblewoman had to stop herself from subconsiously comparing again. Every single match after Triana had been the same. It all felt sluggish, clumsy. Uncoordinated. Frustratingly imprecise.

Cassiopeia shut her thoughts behind steel walls in her mind so they wouldn’t reach her summoner. Tried to adapt to the situation. The first five minutes went by uneventfully against Orianna.

And then the clockwork being's movements changed.

 _“We’re getting ganked._ _”_ Cassiopeia mentally warned.

The mage gulped down a chunk of anxiety. He missed a minion in his failed attempt at keeping a level head. It was all too obvious he’d been unaware.

Ekko’s _timewinder_ was thrown from the side bushes, while the circle of his _parallel convergence_ was beginning to form beneath her.

The Serpent’s Embrace steeled herself. The boy leapt out poised to strike, but she blocked his sword with her gauntlet. _Oh, no, you don’t!_ Sharp claws gleamed in the faint moonlight. Magic shield or not, she knew she could kill him right there for his audacity to sneak an attack at her…

Cassiopeia’s hand shot forward like a whip. Wrapped around his tender little throat ready to smack him _down_ —

But nothing happened.

Ekko didn’t budge.

He flinched from the cut of her talons, but that was all. She didn’t have the _strength_ to force him against the earth. Lime-green eyes widened.The time-winder laughed, pulled his sword back and sharply thrust it forward. Cassiopeia’s chest was pierced clean through. It _burned_. Her breath shattered in her lungs.

A fatal attack from Orianna came from behind–and her world faded to black.

 _“What are you doing?!”_ her summoner spoke in her head, as soon as she respawned. Cassiopeia grit her teeth. Poisonous rage was working its way across her system. “ _You lack the power to fight him one on one!”_

She couldn’t knock down a boy who had zero kills to his name, yet mere days ago she’d overpowered a warrior who had been positively _fed_.

…With a different summoner. A summoner who stood on a whole different level than the rest of the _trash_ —

 _“No.”_ Ice coated her voice. “You _do._ ”

...

Hopeless days turned into hopeless nights.

 _All_ of their nerves were so on edge they could physically snap.

“Alright, but how about this one?” Talon asked, presenting her with yet another summoner’s profile.

“Useless.” Cassiopeia repeated the same word she’d used for the past few _dozens_ , because even her rich vocabulary ran out of ways to describe the utter lack of talent in the past year’s recruits.

Katarina had _long_ since given up, her face cradled in her hand as she sat sprawled over her couch. It was, perhaps, a slight improvement from how she’d been when she came in from her latest match, two steps away from miserable. It was one thing for her sister to barge in kicking and shouting every curse word known to man after a horrible game –Cassiopeia was used to that. But for her to drop to a downright catatonic state, the defeat she suffered must have been beyond measure.

Talon huffed uncharacteristically loud. He dropped the files he’d been holding on her desk in surrender. Dark eyes turned to the other assassin in the room. “Katarina, you alive in there?”

“Zero and twenty. Don’t talk to me.” she whispered to no one, still in utter disbelief.

“I think this match broke her.” Talon shook his head.

“I went zero and _fucking_ twenty!” Katarina exploded out of the blue. Cassiopeia’s brain was once again assaulted by the volume, a hiss leaving her throat out of reflex. “Of course it broke me! It broke me that these shit League rules didn’t allow me to cut up that _rodent_ of a summoner!”

To say things were going well would be an understatement. A massive one. Cassiopeia had lowered her expectations considerably to find someone remotely acceptable. Surely, it wasn’t too much to ask that they looked a step above mediocre, could hold themselves before a lens without stuttering and had the magic power and skill of at _least_ a low-Platinum level, so she could then boost them further. Yet, after days of fruitness searching, it became clear no such thing would be found.

They were running out of time.

 _They’re not good enough. None of them are even_ close _to being good enough._ Cassiopeia thought. ... _Not like her._ She could still recall the power that surged through her veins during her bond with Triana. How natural every movement occured, how _good_ it had felt to grab Lee Sin by the throat and smack him onto the earth like a fly. Subconsciously, her mind searched for that same feeling in all of her following matches, but it had been a singularity. Same as the summoner‘s composure. Same as her looks.

Triana was perfect for what Cassiopeia needed. A diamond in the rough, a star bound to rise even without her aid.

 _Too_ perfect.

But _everything_ was on the line. There was no room for missed opportunities, nor deep-rooted fears. No space for pride. No other choice. She was willing to swallow her issues, because she was intimately aware their family name was far more important than herself. 

Cassiopeia couldn’t stand to look at Triana, yes, but she couldn’t stand to watch Noxus fall before Demacia, either. She couldn’t stand to watch her House fall any further because of her.

She couldn’t _stand_ it. She _couldn’t_.

If there was one thing about her that hadn’t changed...

It was that their family _always_ came first.

“Triana will be my summoner.”

Katarina’s head snapped up at her as though she’d been shot.

“Don’t question my decisions.” Cassiopeia said to her stunned siblings, before she dismissed them.

...

It was a wonder the Institute could house so many people yet still leave an abundance of room to breathe. If Cassiopeia could appreciate anything about it since joining, it was that fact. There were spaces within the peerless grounds few people even knew about, much less visited. Pathways she could take when she wished for some fresh air where no eyes would track her.

The noblewoman slithered down one of the less-travelled trails to the arenas. Hedges filled with wild roses framed its sides, crimson-red, hued with vibrant orange from the rays of the setting sun. Claws and fingers reached to them, absent-mindedly caressing over the soft petals.

For a moment, Cassiopeia allowed herself to think of home. Of the beautiful back garden there, a rarity in Noxus, she could still picture her mother meticulously tend to. It was one of the few vivid childhood memories she had of her. How her hands had so lovingly cradled her collection of blossoms, a stark contradiction to the way she held herself outside their estate. Her calm voice, explaining that some flowers were as beautiful as they were deadly –the sheer _pride_ in her eyes, at the notion her daughters would grow to be much the same.

Cassiopeia was too afraid to even _wonder_ what she’d think if was still with them.

If she could see what had become of her.

She sharply averted her blurring gaze from the roses.

The rookie arenas’ domes were peeking out of the old trees in the distance up ahead. The youngest Du Couteau swallowed down her rising discomfort at the number of people gathered beneath the structures. Then, chartreuse-green eyes narrowed. There weren’t supposed to be _that_ many summoners waiting outside. On a Friday evening, no less. 

The figure that broke from the crowd to approach her was familiar by that point. Cassiopeia would recognize her lovely scent through a thousand others. _Shurimans and their body oils..._

“Good evening.” Triana greeted. She still had her hood up, a fact the noblewoman was unreasonably relieved for, although it made her wonder. Surely, looks like that were not meant to be hidden.

“What is going on?” A faint motion of her chin was made towards the arenas.

“Well… sudden maintenance.” the summoner replied, the faintest hint of an apology in her tone. “They should be done in about an hour, they said. But I understand if you don’t have that long to wait.”

Cassiopeia didn’t have pressing business to attend to, other than the pressing need to return to the safety of her chambers. “I do have better things to do than sit here and listen to summoners complain.”

“What if you weren’t sitting here and there weren’t any complains?” Triana asked, all charm. Cassiopeia coolly raised an elegant eyebrow. “Would you consider getting coffee with me? My treat, of course, for dragging you all the way out here.”

The noblewoman tried not to gaze at her like she’d grown another set of limbs.

The reflexive, immediate rejection at the tip of her tongue froze there for several moments. She couldn’t say what it was about the invitation that surprised her so completely. Not many things could. Perhaps it was the normalcy of the offer, which had never quite existed in her life. Perhaps it was the nervous signs in Triana’s body language as the seconds of her silence dragged on, so reminiscent of scenes from… the past.

The rational part of her brain kicked in. Realistically, it whispered, nobody would ask her out for the pleasure of her company. Everybody associated with her wanted _something_. She wasn’t who she used to be, but she still _was_ Cassiopeia Du Couteau. The question was, what was Triana after? She’d already promised generous gold in exchange for her services. Fame would come in its own time. Surely there were many benefits to being on her good side but…

_To risk playing with fire?_

Cassiopeia would lie to say she wasn’t intrigued.

And she always had been a slave to her own curiosity.

“Very well.” she spoke. Some of Triana’s tension eased. “Lead the way.”

…

The coffee shop was quiet and mostly empty.

It sported a dark-wood theme that was quite appealing to the eye –nothing extravagant like the places Cassiopeia was used to, yet charming in its own way. The scent of vanilla and cream was prominent in the air, coiling around them in a welcoming embrace.

Triana picked a booth with acceptable view, bathed by the final rays of the sunset. Slid in the seat across from Cassiopeia, the very epitome of silent grace. Lime eyes observed her every move. How she did not fumble, didn’t move too fast or too slow, when she reached up to push her hood behind her back. How her bright, hazel eyes did a quick, subtle sweep of the room, before they settled on the catalogue.

_So aware._

The waitress all but _rushed_ to take their order.

Cassiopeia’s gaze made her nearly drop her notebook, while Triana’s had an entirely different effect on her. It was more annoying than amusing how the girl flushed pink the second the summoner spoke in her darling accent– and with how her pen shook, in fright and eagerness both, it was a wonder their order came right, several minutes later.

“You know, there is a lot you can deduce from one's choice of drink.” Cassiopeia commented, curling two slender fingers around her thin straw. She looked at her latte so she wouldn’t look upon Triana, positively _glowing_ before the open window like an exotic fairy.

“Yes?” The blonde’s smooth lips curved in the slightest hint of a smile. “What does mine say?”

_Time to find out._

“Traumatic experiences, trust issues, a certain need for self-protection.” Cassiopeia's piercing gaze bore into Triana as she casually delivered her answer. 

All mirth vanished from her hazel eyes. 

It was brief; barely a bolt of lightning, but it was _there_ and Cassiopeia caught it, the flash of something haunted in her gaze.

She blinked the look away so fast the Du Couteau almost doubted herself. Almost. Because her inhuman senses picked up the stutter in her steady heartbeat and she knew she hit home. It was only natural; Triana’s awareness, her near-obsessive _need_ for vision during their match made so much more sense, then.

The Shuriman laughed it off, as Cassiopeia thought she might. But she had already seen all she needed to. “My black coffee says all that?”

“No, not truly.” The noblewoman leaned back in her seat, the smirk on her lips sharp enough to cut stone. She was comfortable in her element, guiding conversations as she pleased. Turning them into interrogations. “But the look on your face speaks for itself.”

And _oh_ , how Cassiopeia wanted to delve deeper, break through her clear waters to the dark depths beneath. To _dissect_ her for being so daring, until she stood as intimidated around her as everyone else.

Triana raised her eyebrows. Licked her bottom lip. “Well.” she began. “Your order just has ‘classy’ written all over it.” she eyed her cup, delicately held between long fingers and bladed claws. “Which is no fair because I already knew that.”

Cassiopeia’s brain took a hot second to register the compliment, having grown too unaccustomed to them. She chose to let it slide. “If you want fair, it is your mistake for asking me to come here.”

“No mistake.” Triana said back.

“Your new fan would rather you came alone.” Cassiopeia made a faint inclination towards the waitress, who hadn’t stopped ogling the summoner. Triana smirked, not at all coy. Shook her head. “Oh, good. You noticed. I was worried your observation skills drop to abysmal levels outside the Rift.” It was only a tiny prod at her pride.

Which produced marvellous results.

“I _do_ notice.” the Shuriman stated, the corner of her lip twitching in a slight grimace. “I just don’t care.”

“Not your type?” Cassiopeia pressed. She was starting to see why the summoner kept her hood up all the time. Not because she wasn’t aware of her appearance, but because she _was_. 

“Girls like her don’t interest me.” The small smirk playing at her mouth spoke of a heart several degrees colder than one may have imagined, at first glance.

Cassiopeia, drawn by the hint of darkness, bent her body ever so slightly forward. “Do tell. What kind interests you, then?” she asked.

Triana's smirk turned into a full-on, devious grin. “The dangerous kind.”

They had that in common.

Sadly, the sky was growing dark outside, cutting their time short. More than an hour had passed.

Triana insisted on paying, leaving the gold on their table and not sparing the waitress a single glance. Cassiopeia, on the other hand, felt like she held her undivided attention, even when her eyes weren’t on her.

Through their walk back to the arenas, she sized the summoner up. Their coffee time had answered few things about her but birthed a hundred more questions.

Triana’s motives were still shrouded in mystery.

_But before me, no mystery stays unsolved for long._

…

Their following match was an easy victory, solidifying what Cassiopeia already knew. This was the summoner she’d be stepping into the Grand Stage with, whether she liked it or not. She was the only one worthy of bearing their House’s symbol on her garb, the only one fit to carry the weight of the Du Couteau name to victory.

Cassiopeia only had to avoid looking at her. To keep her claws firmly at her sides. The urge to mar her was overpowering at times, but three long, dreadful years had taught her how to exercise control over her terrible form. Yet if anything at all triggered her to the point of compromising that…

Horrendous images invaded her mind.

_She didn’t know how it happened._

_One minute she was there, trying to hold herself steady on her tail as she listened to what the doctors that examined her had to say about her mind-shattering migraines. The next… someone looked at her wrong. Only for a moment; a fleeting millisecond of repugnance._

_Her mind went_ dark _. Rage and venom swelled like the tide in her veins, uncontrollable,_ maddening _—_

_When she came back to herself, they were all dead._

_Gutted, throats sliced as though by some savage beast. But the only such thing in the room, she knew… was herself. Shaken, light-green eyes fell down at her own claws, painted red. Crimson droplets drip-dropped from the tips onto the stained tiles of their home._

_On the other end of the chamber, Katarina was pressed against a wall, chest heaving, clutching her side. Her emerald eyes were wide with –fear. She had never seen that expression on her sister’s face before._

_Cassiopeia’s gaze dropped to where the assassin's hand was pressed against her ribs. With her new eyes, she could already see the nasty bruise of something fractured forming there. She must have hit her with her tail during her rampage, but she didn’t remember a thing._

_Her hands shook._

_Katarina stepped forward, reaching as though to calm her down. “Cass—”_

_“Stay away.” She could have killed her and she wouldn’t even have noticed. She could have_ killed _her. “Stay away from me!”_

Cassiopeia shut her eyes tightly to vanquish the memory.

“Everything alright?” Triana’s voice came, a respectful distance from her side. “Did I cut the summoning bond off too fast and give you whiplash? I am sorry.” she said, a tad faster than her normal, composed speech. Surprisingly enough, her voice was one of the few that didn’t feel like a direct assault at the noblewoman’s brain.

“No.” Cassiopeia replied. “It’s fine.” She was already turning to leave, when—

“May I walk you back to your dorm?”

She halted. Looked at Triana weird.

“Mine’s that way too.” The Shuriman shrugged easily. “And you never know what scary monsters lurk in the shadows, waiting for a Lady to pass by.”

Cassiopeia quirked an eyebrow at that. Other than the utter absurdity of the comment due to them being in the Institute, where nothing could harm them… “Take a closer look. Do I look like I need saving?” Normally, she wouldn’t dare anyone’s gaze on her, much less Triana’s. She wasn’t sure what possessed her in that moment to do so.

At that point, the Du Couteau was convinced the Shuriman was either half-blind or touched in the head. She looked at her like there was nothing wrong with her…

Like— like she was _normal_.

“Well, currently no. We ought to keep it that way.” Swiftly, like a bird swooping in to catch prey, she invited herself along.

 _Curiouser and curiouser._ Cassiopeia thought. And her damn accent was doing her _far_ too many favors. No doubt she knew it, too.

The noblewoman believed it would be irritating to have someone walk with her through her usually solitary pathways, but Triana was so quiet she was –and this was strange to say considering her appearance— barely noticeable.

The massive twin structures of the Champion dorms soon towered before them. Cassiopeia was only reminded of her company when the steady sound of light footsteps at her side came to a stop. Earlier joking aside, Triana _did_ act much like a bodyguard. Almost… dedicated.

The stars twinkled like diamonds in the far-reaching veil of the sky. They reflected in her eyes –and for a moment, in the darkness, she seemed so familiar it was off-putting. 

Cassiopeia wondered, for a second, if they could have met somewhere in the past. But the thought was dismissed as soon as it formed because there was no _way_ she’d ever cross paths with someone like that and then forget about it. She wasn’t exactly forgettable. And knowing herself, the noblewoman wouldn’t have let the blonde beauty slip her by with a simple greeting. 

“I had a nice time at the game.” Triana said. “And the interrogation.” was added a millisecond later, the edge of her mouth quirking up.

Cassiopeia held back a tiny smirk. 

“We should do this again sometime.”

“Which part?” the youngest Du Couteau asked.

“Maybe both.”

People always wanted something. But she wasn’t always interested in finding out what.

“Maybe.” she replied. 

Cassiopeia disappeared in the darkness of her dorm, while Triana blended with the shadows outside.

And just as the Shuriman had said, indeed there were monsters there to grip and claw at her. In her solitude. In her mind. In her nightmares.

But those, there was no saving her from.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No I don't like torturing my baby Cass like this, guys but it has to be done. Trust me, better days will come for her. Eventually. Until then, she has her sexy new summoner to busy her troubled, sleep-depraved mind with, who, by the way, is absolutely smooth with the ladies when she wants to be. Too bad no one catches her eye. Orrrr... almost no one? ;) We shall see.
> 
> On another note, I *love* writing Katarina. She's so incredibly fun to me. Cranky assassin bae.


	4. Chapter 4

**[Cassiopeia]**

Another sleepless night.

Chartreuse eyes poured over the burnt tome before them, hoping against hope for any new information within its ruined pages. Her mother’s handwriting glared at her, in what little spots of unmarred paper was left, yet offered no answer to her silent cries for help.

Her translations matched Cassiopeia’s perfectly. She’d gone over them again and again, all Shuriman texts that existed even _vaguely_ describing the godly powers said to reside within the Emperor’s burial chamber. Powers to shape whole planes according to one’s will. Powers to make any wish come to life –to make worlds _bow_.

Yet the noblewoman had found only poison there.

The strength she gained was _nothing_ compared to the price she paid for it –and it _couldn’t_ have been what all those writings had described.

 _Was it all lies left behind by Xerath’s followers so some fool could one day unleash him from his prison?_ She didn’t want to believe it. With every fibre of her being she refused to believe it, that she had been misled by false promises of forces which didn’t exist.

Her mother had dedicated years of her life to studying Shuriman artefacts. Time she could have spent with Katarina and her, that she instead offered to tome after blasted tome. Cassiopeia remembered how hard it had been to divert her attention for even a second. For a glance.

After the woman was murdered, she had taken over her obsession with the unknown. She had taken after her on nearly everything, after all, while Katarina was more their father’s daughter.

Cassiopeia spent _ages_ trying to pinpoint the location of the Emperor’s Tomb.

And it was all for _nothing_.

A splitting pain seared through her temples. The youngest Du Couteau raised her hands to her head, shutting her eyelids tightly. It hurt so _much_. Tears prickled at the corners of her eyes from the pressure, from the frustration, from the pain. She wanted it to end, she wanted the poison out of her veins even if it meant she had to open them up herself. The fact her claws could cut everything except her own skin still very much drove her _mad_.

Her vision blurred.

Then it sharpened so fast it was nauseating. Cassiopeia tried to focus her mind, to control her powers rather than allow them to control her. She fought to tone her enhanced sight down…

But that was when she glanced at her mother’s notes. Where the burnt pages had been nothing but black-and-spotted-yellow before, few, faded letters in-between, she could suddenly make out _more_. Entire _sentences_ that hadn’t been visible earlier.

Cassiopeia gasped.

 _“I am missing something. A key piece of this intricate puzzle. I know it in my gut something is off here.”_ Was written at the bottom of a page. The noblewoman carefully turned it. _“Azir was known to be the last Emperor of Shurima before its fall. All texts found inside_ Shurima _hint at a godlike power buried with him, forever his right to own and nobody else’s.”_

Eager green eyes read on.

 _“Why, then, does one of the papyruses found in the Shuriman temple excavated in_ Noxus _refer to the last Emperor as a ‘she’?”_

…

It was a mistake. It had to be. 

That same morning, Cassiopeia had one of her agents visit the museum where the scroll was kept in storage and send her a high-resolution picture of it. The object was badly faded from the passage of centuries. No wonder the other nobles did not much care to buy it at the auction and it ended up disregarded once more, behind thick glass in a dark room.

What little of the ink remained read: _“…this place of worship, dedicated to the Last of Emperors. Like the sun cannot be hidden from clouds for long, her glory shall shine—”_ the letters were not visible there. _“A rule eternal; until the end of times.”_

‘Her’ _glory._

Yet it was one mention in a small, easily overlooked line. Whoever wrote it was probably as sleep deprived as Cassiopeia was, to have made an error that would go down in history like that.

 _Still… how strange. Shurimans do not allow such inconsistencies in their writing. They obsess over perfection. An absence of flaws. Could it be intentional, to mock Azir?_ Perhaps another one secretly sworn against the Emperor. But then, it made no sense why they would be a priest or a scholar at a temple made to praise his name, so far away from Shurima.

_So many questions._

They ate at her.

They swarmed her mind like locusts, denying her even a moment of peace. Cassiopeia _had_ to look into it, had to know for sure, even if she was, by that point, grasping at straws.

The only way to solve such a tangled thread was following its beginning. So, she'd tasked another agent with sending her the official log of every object found within the temple and sold at the auction. She was already aware her House had bought most of them, they'd been her father's anniversary gift to her mother –but not all.

As it turned out, there was another scroll, far better preserved, which was bought by a noble under the name of Sergal. And the man had offered the papyrus to none other than the head of the Black Rose, as a token of his undying loyalty to the order.

_I will get it still._

“Good morning to you too…?” Katarina’s voice cut in. Only then did Cassiopeia notice she was not alone in her room. The assassin never failed to announce her presence, either, so she must have really been too far lost in her own head.

“That remains to be seen.” she replied, expression flat.

“You okay?” the redhead asked in a casual way, trying to hide how deeply worried she actually was.

Cassiopeia would have been touched, once. She would have teased the redhead about going soft on her until the end of days. After her transformation, though, Katarina’s concern only got on her nerves.

“Never better.” her voice was cold.

“You could just say no.” Emerald eyes narrowed.

“You could simply not ask and _not_ be here.”

Katarina took a breath. Held her nerves in check uncharacteristically well. Ashe really _did_ have quite the calming influence on her. “You look like you haven’t slept much.”

“I didn’t. At all.” A normal human would have been dead from exhaustion by that point. Cassiopeia prided herself in the fact she didn’t slip up from her duties in the slightest –and a network of spies keeping tabs on every noble in Noxus was no simple thing to direct.

“I’m free for the morning. I can take over your match if you want—”

“No.” Cassiopeia cut her off. Perhaps a bit too harshly. _I don’t need your pity._ “I appreciate it, but I’m fine.” Biggest lie ever told.

Deep green orbs looked away in clear disbelief. The motion caused them to land on her desk and the charred book still lingering there. Katarina averted her gaze to something safer, but Cassiopeia could see her inner struggle not to comment on the tome.

The sound of a ringtone drew both sisters’ attention. The youngest Du Couteau carefully picked the device up from the nightstand. Answered it. “Elise.” Katarina’s gaze sharpened.

 _“I have what you asked.”_ came the low voice from the other end.

“Excellent.”

 _“But do keep in mind; you owe me now.”_ the Spider Queen said.

“Of course. Short reckonings make long friends.” the Du Couteau replied evenly.

_“That’s good to hear. Take care of yourself –we’ll talk in person soon enough.”_

Cassiopeia lowered her phone to the sight of a bristling Katarina. She would have preferred not to have that conversation in front of her, as questions then became unavoidable. The elder sister could keep her thoughts to herself only for so long.

“What’s that about?” Not much room for vague answers was left.

“There is a certain object I want that is currently owned by the Black Rose. Elise is the only one who could get it for me –LeBlanc and I don’t always see eye-to-eye.”

“And you and the sociopath are suddenly the best of buddies.” Katarina snarked, all sarcasm.

“You could say she is the closest thing to it.” Cassiopeia spoke cuttingly. She didn’t have friends, of course. She had allies and she had pawns. Either way, Elise had been the only one the young heiress could speak to for more than a few sharp sentences, after her transformation. Monsters could only get along with monsters, it seemed.

A fact that made Katarina _boil_.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Her eyes flashed.

“I don’t recall asking for your approval.” Cassiopeia said back, dead-even, glacial. “If I ever need it, I have your number.”

“You don’t ever _call_ it.” Katarina hissed. “At this point, fucking _Elise_ knows more about you and what you’re up to than I do!”

“She _understands_ more about me than you do.” Light-green eyes narrowed dangerously. The assassin’s jaw clenched _tight_. “Noxus’ darling miss _perfect_.” Far more venom than she’d intended seeped into her tone. Weaved its toxic way through every spiteful word.

Katarina froze.

 _Snapped_.

“ _Perfect_?!” her voice rose, sharp as her blades. A hollow, enraged chuckle escaped her lips. “In case you’ve forgotten, the sign of all my failures is right here,” she brought a tense finger under her left eye. “on my _face_!” came out as a roar. “It will be there every time I see myself in a mirror, along with father’s shamed look!”

Faster than a heart could complete a single beat, Cassiopeia was face to face with her. “ _I_ cannot even _bear_ to gaze in a mirror.” she said, low, like a dark warning. The redhead’s rage gave way to something much more vulnerable in an instant. “Yet even if I don’t, father’s look the second I woke up at home like this will haunt me forever. Do you really wish to compare the two?”

Even if her arrogance had brought their family shame, Katarina would always be Marcus’ golden child. His assassin prodigy. Cassiopeia could read how impressed by her talents she was in his eyes, even if it never showed in his voice or his gestures. He’d been proud of her, too, for her prowess in her own field. Once.

Katarina remained silent.

“Now step aside before I make you. I have places to be.”

The redhead wordlessly moved away from the entrance.

Cassiopeia did not look back as she brushed her by.

…

Arguments with Katarina were always draining.

After the adrenaline and nerves died down to dull numbness, Cassiopeia was overcome by waves of exhaustion. They weighted her limbs, her mind. She took a deep breath, tried to shake the feeling off as she approached the rookie arenas.

Triana was leaning against a tree a few ways off her team, waiting for her with her hood down. The faint sunlight peeking through the thick clouds above caressed the side of her gorgeous face, brought out the lines of tension at her brow. She seemed so deep in thought the rest of the world did not exist to her. Until she noticed Cassiopeia draw near.

Hazel eyes peered at her. Soft-looking lips widened in a small smile. Heads all around turned their direction. They must have struck an odd image as a pair –the beauty and the terror.

Triana was holding two steaming cups in her hands, Cassiopeia noticed, before one was extended towards her.

She carefully accepted the brew –her sensitive sense of smell told her it was _exactly_ as she liked it, too— but, “How do you know how I take my coffee in the morning?”

“I don’t. Luckily, the lady in charge of the cafeteria has every champion’s preference memorized.” Triana said, shoulders moving in a little shrug.

Cassiopeia brought the cup to her lips for a small sip. Rich caffeine tickled her tongue and it was _godssent_ in that moment. The heiress felt a newfound appreciation for the summoner, which she immediately tried to drown behind her own bitterness. Her coldness was her shield and she wouldn’t lower it for anyone.

“I have a good memory, but I don’t think I could get your order right on the first try.” the Shuriman commented.

“Don’t feel too bad about it. Katarina _still_ can’t get it right.” Cassiopeia’s lip quirked the tiniest bit.

“I hope my coffee doesn’t betray my trust issues this time.” Triana joked, an attractive smirk painted on her mouth.

Cassiopeia glanced at her cup, then her eyes. She took the subtle challenge when she spoke up next. “Not your trust issues. But it _is_ quite strong, which hints at bad quality of sleep, or lack of proper rest.”

The summoner’s smirk remained in place, but she did not confirm nor deny the speculation. Cassiopeia had a feeling she was spot-on, though. “Nothing escapes you, then?”

“I wouldn’t be great at my job if something did.”

The arena’s staff then called them in, to line up for the start of the game. Their conversation was one the noblewoman made a mental note to continue later.

Cassiopeia finished her coffee while Triana and the rest of the summoners locked in their choices in runes and spells for the match. When the blonde was ready, a thread of her magic was extended towards the heiress. It was an invitation, rather than a demand to bond. She accepted it gracefully, yet with the same underlying caution that colored all her decisions.

Warmth hummed across her cold skin. It reminded Cassiopeia of running her fingers through golden sand, shimmering underneath the glorious sun. It reminded her of a time when she was enamoured with anything Shuriman, rather than hateful. 

Any negative leftovers of emotions fled her mind.

Their singular focus became victory.

…

The Institute’s matching system was fair, in most cases. Summoners of the same rank and performances were more or less matched with those of the same level. The past years’ rankings were taken into consideration as well, so any imbalances were few and far between.

Which was why Cassiopeia could not _fathom_ why Triana’s opponent, Bora, was a summoner that reached Master rank the previous season, before demoting and remaining in Diamond. Still, it was a massive gap to be dismissed as a small error and she didn’t think his team was bad enough to even the playing field, considering he was _duo_ with the jungler.

Cassiopeia pondered on telling the blonde at the start of the game. She weighted the pros and cons and decided to keep the information to herself, at least for a while longer.

 _“Prepared to get mauled.”_ she heard his voice boast, through her mental link with Triana.

The Shuriman chose not to reply, the comment seemingly brushing her by. The noblewoman was certain she was unaffected by it but didn’t ignore it, already planning to make him eat his words later. _But there is a not-so-slight difference between the two teams…_

She wasn’t surprised when the enemy jungler, Singed, drew first blood.

Brand laughed behind his minions. “They really messed up with this one.” he said, lunging another fireball that narrowly missed her. _Don’t I know it._

Another kill was given from her bottom lane, then top lost in a one-versus-one. Cassiopeia stood in relative safety thanks to the wards all around her lane…

Or so she thought.

Triana noticed Singed approach in time, but there was little she could do when Brand flashed on her champion and stunned her.

Cassiopeia, teeth gritted from the pain of the burns on her skin, braced herself for what was to come. Normally, poison would not affect her. Flames wouldn’t harm her. But this was the Rift, where she could feel the suffering of both.

Dying never got easier, no matter how temporary.

 _“Cassiopeia.”_ Triana’s voice came in her head, cold. _“My opponent isn’t even remotely close to Gold or Platinum, is he?”_

 _“High Diamond.”_ she replied as she made her way back to the lane.

 _“Ah. Small difference there.”_ the summoner deadpanned. Cassiopeia smirked.

Brand was throwing his fire around a lot more comfortably after the security of that first kill. It was the only thing that could be used against him, because mechanically his summoner was indeed good.

 _“Get ready to wipe that annoying smirk off his face.”_ the blonde said. Cassiopeia showed no change in her pattern of attacks. And out of the blue—

Triana flashed her in front of Brand’s face. Shocked, he couldn’t look away from her deadly eyes in time. Unearthly light spilled from her retinas, a curse as ancient as the poison running through her veins. Her opponent turned to stone –and after a noxious blast, Cassiopeia shattered him apart with her claws.

 _“What the_ fuck _was that play?!”_ Bora demanded. 

_“You were saying?”_ Triana asked back. The Serpent’s Embrace thoroughly enjoyed that payback.

 _“Fifteen minutes on the clock, Goldie. Surrender or you’ll regr—.”_ His sentence was suddenly cut short.

 _“You muted him?”_ Cassiopeia asked.

 _“Oops.”_ Triana said, not apologetic in the _slightest_.

Their team did wish to surrender, however. The first try failed due to the Shuriman voting negative, but that was the only one which had to be unanimous. If they wanted to win, it wasn’t simply the enemy they were fighting against, but also time. They had less than a quarter before the next vote –and their ‘no’ wouldn’t matter then.

Brand was getting more aggressive by the minute. Singed camped her, but couldn’t get a kill on her again. Triana had an uncanny ability to adapt to difficult situations and she trusted Cassiopeia’s eyes to avoid any incoming spells as though they were her own. In the back of their minds, they were aware they were getting better as partners.

Drawing the jungler’s attention had its positives, even if their own didn’t want to help. The other lanes were getting back into the game. Gradually, Varus was gaining ground –and the allied summoners were starting to realize defeat wasn’t as certain as they’d first thought.

 _“He’s fuming. Definitely plotting something –stay alert.”_ Triana warned.

But no warning could have prepared them for what came next.

Singed ran up to her straight under her tower. It didn’t even seem to faze him as he grabbed Cassiopeia and _threw_ her over his shoulder. The ground beneath her filled with adhesive. Her tail couldn’t find friction to push herself out. Then Pyke leapt out of the bushes, where her ward had just expired, his knife thrown into her shoulder. It pierced her through like butter, the serrated edge tearing a cry from her throat on its way out.

Still, she kept her pain in check, so it wouldn’t reach her summoner.

Brand’s fire seared through her minions, straight at her. The flames licked at her skin, entered through the cracks on her tail. Infiltrated the wound on her shoulder –and yet she was in control.

Until.

A flaming vortex formed around her, while Singed ran in circles on the outside of it. It resulted in a plume of poison and fire, that she had no choice but to inhale. The scorch across her lungs was _torture_.

Everything burned. Outside, inside.

It was almost like…

That day in the Emperor’s Tomb.

Cassiopeia’s mind went into a _frenzy_.

Triana was assaulted by the full force of her suffering, as the enemies had intended, all along. It took all the willpower the champion had left not to bring upon her the memories clawing at her sanity. 

The Shuriman was faring no better. She was in pain from their bond, yes, yet there was also a different torment underneath. One much like Cassiopeia’s, triggered by images of a fire—

For a moment, barely a heartbeat, Cassiopeia _saw_. Raging wildfire wrecking everything through a building. Triana screaming out a woman’s name as she dashed _into_ the flames. Then it was all blinding pain, pain, _pain_.

_Make it stop!_

_“How_ dare _they.”_ Triana’s voice was dark as the abyss when Cassiopeia then heard it.

The steady warmth of her power turned to boundless cold. In that instant, there was nothing about her reminiscent of light. The noblewoman felt it in her veins as surely as the hurt.

Such _darkness_.

Cassiopeia was hanging by an inch of her life. Their flash just then came off cooldown. She thought Triana would use it to attempt an escape. Instead…

She was pushed _forward_. Her deadly ultimate was unleashed, petrifying the enemies while Cassiopeia’s rage was let loose. Singed was left to drown in her poison. She grabbed Pyke by the throat and shattered him apart with her talons.

Only Brand was left, who then recovered from his petrification and leapt at her for the finishing blow—

Cassiopeia moved faster, his wrist snatched in her iron grip. The end of her tail wrapped around the man’s feet. In a sickening twist of both, the Du Couteau broke his bones like twigs. Somewhere in a corner of her mind, she was aware such a thing shouldn’t be possible. Surely, the League’s magic diminished her strength to a point where she couldn’t so easily do that.

Triana made her grab his head and hold him there, with her claws digging in.

 _Let him suffer._ was their shared thought.

 _“Varesh. A’thil sen acé.”_ Triana’s voice was like a dark omen. Cassiopeia could translate what she said.

_Trash. Know your place._

And the Burning Vengeance was set aflame. The Ignite was delivered through his face, frying his brain. The crushing force of it was something Cassiopeia felt under her palm, like the power she’d always sought when she searched for Shurima’s secrets. Absolute.

“A summoner has disconnected!” echoed throughout the Fields.

Cassiopeia wasn’t surprised when the surrender vote came in from the enemy team.

That spell wasn’t something Bora would soon recover from. 

…

Medics rushed to the scene.

Cassiopeia stepped out of her teleporting rune in time to see them gather the shaking summoner up into a lightweight stretcher. Bora was shivering like a leaf in the wind, like the wounds she’d inflicted on Brand had been dealt directly to him. She could tell his body had gone into shock.

“You! Did you do this?” a woman among the medics asked, pointing an accusing finger at Triana.

The Shuriman turned to regard her coolly. “Yes?” It was a near-emotionless answer, delivered so casually, as though there was nothing wrong with wrecking a fellow summoner apart at all.

In Cassiopeia’s opinion, of course, there wasn’t. He’d intended to do the same thing to her. And as soon as he recovered, the noblewoman would pull a few strings to make sure he suffered worse for what he forced them to experience. _Nobody_ crossed a Du Couteau without consequences.

“You—you’re dangerous! I will have you reported for this!” the woman said.

Cassiopeia’s gaze narrowed. It immediately made the medic lower her tone. Her throat moved in an obvious gulp. “You wouldn’t do such a foolish thing to _my_ chosen summoner.” she spoke, leaving the ‘ _or else’_ out of her sentence. Triana was not some random people could point at and get away with it.

“Is it against the rules?” the blonde asked, calmly putting her hands in her robes’ pockets. The medics looked between themselves. So did the summoners of both teams. “Breaking your opponent is a tactic attempted all the time in Challenger games –it’s all over the Championship. It is the mage’s fault if they can’t shield themselves from that –so if you want to blame someone, blame that guy.” Triana cocked her chin towards her broken opponent. “He couldn’t take it.”

Cassiopeia smirked. Her eyes pinned all individuals present with a warning glare. They lowered their heads and fled the scene as fast as possible.

The Shuriman looked at her. “So… good game?”

Lime orbs met hazel. “Walk with me.”

…

Cassiopeia could go about it in a hundred tactful ways. But she decided in that moment the best approach was the blatantly direct one.

“Those memories of fire –what was that about?” she asked evenly, shoulders kept squared as they made their way across the massive yard to the champion dorms.

“I apologize. I did not mean for you to see that.” Triana evaded the question with genuine words.

“I saw, though.”

“And you shouldn’t have.” her voice hardened.

“If you are going to be my main summoner, Triana, I will find out everything regardless.” It was both a warning and a statement.

Cassiopeia had nothing if not sources. And she never allowed people near her whose backgrounds were a mystery to her. That was where motivations had their roots, after all.

Until that point, she’d only read the League’s logs on the blonde –and they did not offer much in way of information. There was no way that sufficed.

“I thought we agreed on my trust issues.” the mage said, lip curling in a wry smirk. It didn’t reach her eyes.

“They can’t compare to mine.” Cassiopeia replied. “So, you must understand my need to know about a traumatic experience like that. Especially since, as today has proven, it can be used against you.”

“And as today has also proven, all those who try will suffer.” It was a promise, rather than an assurance.

Cassiopeia stopped before the Noxian staircase into the massive dorm structure. Fixed the summoner with a cool gaze. She wondered if the blonde had scars from dashing into the flames –or if they were hidden beneath the skin. When she tried to recall the moment their pain aligned, what Triana’s had been like, physical or mental or both, only her own echoed back at her.

“Are you disturbed because it wasn’t in my file?” Another hollow smile.

“I’m disturbed because there is _nothing_ in your file.” Cassiopeia answered.

“I have to maintain my air of mystery and intrigue somehow, don’t I? Otherwise you’ll lose your interest in me.” the blonde spoke, charming like a dream. 

“Maybe I find open books more interesting.” Cassiopeia said.

“I doubt that.”

“How so?”

“Because open books are boring to me –and we’re alike.”

“Are we.” Cassiopeia raised an elegant eyebrow.

Surely, they would have to match on some things, to be as efficient as a pair as they were. Triana was cautious, controlled, kept a level head on her shoulders at all times. She was cutting and precise where she had to be, charming and darling where she wanted to be. There was no telling what the real her was, or what was going through her head.

But.

Cassiopeia, even before her transformation, was defined by the coldness of her heart. Shrouded in ice in such a way she’d come to believe perhaps it didn’t exist at all. Her ruthlessness knew no bounds. There were precious few she wouldn’t sacrifice for her ambitions. If Triana really was like that…

“I don’t know what that says for you.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Triana's way more than meets the eye but if one thing is certain about her, it's that she knows how to treat a Lady. Cutie went through all the trouble of getting Cassiopeia's coffee right and she didn't even get a smile in return. Du Couteaus are hard to please. But I'm sure deep down the snake bae is starting to appreciate her. Quite a bit, too ;).
> 
> Uploading today because I won't be able to on Friday or during the Weekend. If you enjoy the story, let me know :)


	5. Chapter 5

**[Cassiopeia]**

Nothing.

There was nothing to be found about her. _Damn Shurimans and their lack of proper documentation!_ Cassiopeia’s agents had searched for days. There was no family background to trace. No mention of her anywhere in Shurima. By all accounts, it seemed like Triana Everett had just crash-landed into the Institute from _nowhere_.

The only existing information were the vague bits and pieces she shared in her interview upon being accepted into the League. And those, to Cassiopeia, held about as much gravity as air. She needed deep secrets unraveled to hold concrete power over the summoner –and she needed power over her to ensure her loyalty. 

Someone so closely tied to the influence of the Du Couteau House had to be absolutely controlled by its members. Triana had to be made aware of everything she would gain by standing at Cassiopeia’s side... but also everything she would lose if she strayed from it. 

The past couldn’t give the heiress the leverage she sought.

She turned to the present.

Her spies were ordered to follow Triana closer than her very shadow. Every interaction she had with summoners and champions both, every place she visited, every breath she took, Cassiopeia was informed of it all.

And yet the dirt she’d hoped for just wasn’t _there_.

For someone who could be so charming, Triana was impossibly distant. She moved about the Institute with her hood up more often than not. Kept away from any and all drama like her life depended on it. When summoners approached her trying to strike up a conversation or ask her out –unsurprisingly, _many_ did— she shot them down as though they were a waste of her energy. Instead, the blonde spent most of her time in the Institute’s massive library and the rest in one of the gyms. Cassiopeia could have guessed that part without spying on her. Her physique could make the awful rookie summoner robes look appealing –and that was really something. 

In the end, the chances of an enemy of their House bribing the Shuriman against them were mercifully low. But that didn’t mean the noblewoman allowed herself to rest assured.

If no scandal existed to be used against Triana in a time of need…

Cassiopeia only had to make one up.

…

Walking together to the champion dorms became sort of like a ritual for them.

After their last match ended that night, another decisive victory which put Triana one step away from Platinum, they wordlessly fell into step past the arenas. The summoner’s boots tapped against the cobblestone path, periodically breaking the quiet. A relative quiet, as Cassiopeia could hear the sounds of nature all around them; leaves bristling in the chilly breeze, squirrels and birds retreating to their nests. Triana’s steadily beating heart. It was a soothing change from the endless array of scents and noise her superhuman senses were usually assaulted with.

For once, she wasn’t eager to retreat to her suite.

As if reading her mind, Triana spoke up. “Would you like to sit by the lake for a while?” It still surprised Cassiopeia how in sync they were sometimes.

She halted. Turned to her partner, standing there like a living, breathing painting, all sun-kissed skin illuminated by the moonlight and sparkling hazel gems for eyes. Triana’s beauty wasn’t something she’d ever think she’d get _used_ to, but for some strange reason it no longer got on her nerves as much. Cassiopeia was starting to accept it as a fact, like she accepted the moon was captivating. Though it did still strike a vulnerable point in her ego.

“You had five matches today. Shouldn’t you be about to fall over?” she asked, only because she didn’t want to agree straight away.

Triana gave a too-lovely smile. “If I fall, you’ll catch me.”

Cassiopeia shook her head. Kept the amusement out of her voice. “No.”

The blonde chuckled as she turned to walk towards the lake. She picked a bench at random and sat, gaze cast over the still waters, the lily pads floating there in their soft white petals. The Du Couteau joined her, examining her partner far closer than the flowers. There was something so _unguarded_ in her eyes for a moment.

Only a moment.

“Do the flowers really fascinate you so?” It hurt her pride to have to ask instead of simply _know_ , but the summoner was too difficult to read, even for her. _What are you thinking?_

“They remind me of home.” Triana replied, her tone taking on a sad quality.

“I recall no such thing in Shurima.” Cassiopeia said, surprising even herself. She did not usually speak of visiting place that had ruined her, both body and mind. Perhaps the cover of night made the difference. “Mostly, it was thieves and boiling hot sun.”

Triana‘s eyes hardened like cooling metal before they held her gaze. “What you saw _isn_ _’_ _t_ Shurima.”

“I saw a whole lot of sand but according to my guide there wasn’t much else, anyway.” She purposefully kept Sivir’s name out of the conversation.

“There used to be so much more.” the blonde said, voice raw with longing.

“Two thousand years ago, maybe.”

“And maybe one day she will be great again.” Triana retorted. She didn’t seem the type to hold onto most Shurimans’ baseless hopes of the empire’s resurrection, but apparently, she shared her fellow sand-dwellers’ beliefs. Cassiopeia must have made a disbelieving grimace somewhere along the line, because the summoner asked: “What, too much sun for your tastes?”

Lime eyes met hazel and the challenge in them head-on. “Too terrible a fashion sense is more like it.”

“What is there _not_ to like about the flimsy tunics?” The blonde laughed, mock-gasped. Her sly expression was so similar to Katarina‘s when she talked about the ‘admirable aspects of the female form’, she couldn't help but roll her eyes.

“Only _everything_. Do not even get me started on the colors –beige is just _so_ basic.” Cassiopeia commented.

“Depends on who is wearing it.” That was true. Triana could probably make anything work. “I think you’d look nice in beige.”

The noblewoman’s brain halted for a millisecond. She didn’t know if she was more bothered by what she heard –‘you’d look _nice’_ — or the fact she could tell Triana _meant_ it. In the past, she’d say she would look great in everything. Since Cassiopeia no longer held that confidence, though, she instead opted for guiding their conversation to something she could use.

“Where in Shurima did you say you were born, exactly?” Sharp eyes studied Triana's face.

“The sands…?” A sexy grin was offered as compensation for the vague reply.

“Are you _trying_ to get on my nerves?”

The summoner chuckled. “No, I _actually_ wasn’t born in any existing city.” She wasn’t lying –Cassiopeia would tell if she was. It made sense why her agents couldn’t find anything about her at all, if she was born among nomads or caravans, away from the main settlements.

“See, that wasn’t in your file, either.” Cassiopeia spoke coolly.

“But now you know.” Triana shrugged.

“I also know about your illegal dealings in Noxus and within the Institute.” the noblewoman delivered her line with deadly precision, gaging the blonde’s reaction.

The Shuriman’s eyebrows shot up, eyes widening a fraction, in a way that was almost cute. Then a frown shadowed her brow... before realization dawned on her. Cassiopeia expected her to be angry, to pull away from her, or look at her differently from that point onward. She did just tell her she had planted evidence that could ruin her career, after all.

And yet.

Triana smirked.

“I must be up to some very shady _sheiss_.” she said the last word in Shuriman. Cassiopeia tried to convince herself the word ‘shit’ coming out her mouth in her native language wasn’t downright _hot_.

“Indeed.” she stated. “You… aren’t surprised.”

“Not really.” The curve of Triana’s mouth softened to a smile. “I told you –we’re alike. I understand. In your position, I probably would have done the same.”

Cassiopeia didn’t know why she was overcome with such _relief_. What Triana thought of her mattered very little, if at all. She did the things she did with her own goals in mind. People were bound to be hurt along the way –but nobody had ever said they _understood_ before.

She was loath to admit she was rendered speechless.

“I know this doesn’t set your mind at ease, but I will _not_ betray you.”

But that was what worried Cassiopeia the most. Triana was too perfect and too good to be true in their family’s time of need. Yet _nobody_ was loyal without a solid reason –and she had in no way bought the summoner’s devotion.

“Those words mean nothing in Noxus. I’ve heard –and said them— a thousand times.” Cassiopeia admitted. _People are too easily bought and sold._ _And you’re right, we are alike. So, I know this as I know the sky is blue…_

 _I would_ never _blindly trust someone like me._

_…_

Cassiopeia did not see her for the next couple of days.

The late-season Tournament made it so she was unavailable all times Gold matches were scheduled to take place. Even if Triana contested for her, it was certain Masters and Challengers would get priority. Katarina was almost instantly locked in, as well, so Cassiopeia left Talon in her stead. He and Triana didn’t seem to have any problems keeping up her winning streak. 

But Cassiopeia was getting agitated.

Because, somehow, _nothing_ in her matches during that time felt the way it did when she was with the Shuriman. Her summoners were good, yes, their skill unmistakable, yet there was always something missing from their bonds. The power and precision she had gotten used to weren’t there. Still, the sensation went deeper than that.

It puzzled her greatly, until she finally managed to put a name to it– _understanding_.

Triana and she were of one mind when they fought. They intended to take the same actions at the same moments. Their instincts aligned; their wills matched.

If she hadn’t been convinced before –or hadn’t wanted to be— it was crystal clear to her then that she couldn’t stand against Demacia’s finest without the blonde by her side. Triana was made for her like a sword was made for its sheath. A fact which rendered her absolutely irreplaceable.

And Cassiopeia hated to admit that. 

The morning after the Tournament’s conclusion, she greeted the summoner with a glare. 

“Don’t you look happy to see me.” Undeterred, Triana offered her a cup of coffee, along with a smile that could compel the sun itself to rise right there. The noblewoman didn’t like how immune to her scowls the Shuriman was.

But she liked the coffee. “Do you think this is how you’re going to earn my favor?” Cassiopeia asked evenly.

“Yes.” She didn’t even hesitate to say it.

The heiress’ constructed tension melted away into a huff. “Well, you’re not entirely wrong.”

The two of them waited at the arena’s lobby quietly, after that. Their teammates for the match were starting to come in with their chosen champions, but Cassiopeia paid them little mind. Her eyes latched onto something far more interesting –the breaking news flashing across the slim tv screen on the opposite wall.

 _‘_ _Α_ _Golden Discovery –Massive Tomb Excavated in Shurima.’_ read the large headline.

“Turn that up.” Triana said to a member of the staff lingering nearby. It was more a command than a request. Cassiopeia barely even glanced at him before he hurried to acquiesce.

 _“We’re now live outside the entrance of the sealed tomb archaeologist Michaels Radov has discovered. While his team searches day and night for the combination that unlocks the enchanted gate, we are finally allowed to share some details on the great find.”_ the reporter said. _“According to the hieroglyphs at the columns and arches of the exterior, as well as the sheer size of the structure, it is theorized this is the resting place of the last High Priestess, before Shurima’s fall.”_

Triana went still as a statue beside her.

Cassiopeia noticed her shock like she could sense shifts in the wind. Her knuckles had gone white over the black of her robes, her jaw so tight lines appeared on her face.

And her eyes –gone was all warmth previously illuminating them.

Her eyes were cold as _ice_. 

_“The High Priestess of the Sun Temple was a role as vital to ancient Shurima as that of the Emperor himself. She was the oracle said to peer into both past and future and it is known that no war was fought without first consulting her visions. The chamber where her sarcophagus resides will give us a lot of information about her life –most importantly her_ death _— but many in Shurima protest that such an action could incur Azir’s wrath.”_

“At’aie yeté.” Triana spoke under her breath, so low Cassiopeia would not have heard her if not for her inhuman senses.

_Stop digging._

“Please line up for the match!” the staff member announced.

The _look_ Triana gave him could freeze hell a thousand times over.

…

That was no match –a ‘match’ implied that both sides got to act.

A stomp was a more accurate description.

Cassiopeia was relentless, a force that couldn’t be stopped, like the light –or the darkness. Fueled by a primal fury in her veins, nothing could stand in her path. The enemy jungler was cut apart before he could even attempt to dive at her. She destroyed Tristana under her very tower, over and over. Yet as thoroughly satisfying as it all was…

In the back of her mind, Cassiopeia was aware something was off.

Triana was tense and silent in their bond. Coiled tight, like a spring pressed too far. Her focus was not on objectives, not on victory. Instead, the champion was urged to kill, kill, _kill_.

Their opponents surrendered at fifteen minutes. Even their own teammates stood in fright of the blonde as she turned to walk out of the arena. Cassiopeia ignored their looks and her fellow champions’ praises as she slithered up to her summoner. At first, there was no reaction. The mage continued walking as though she couldn’t even see her there.

Cassiopeia’s lips formed a thin line. She had _never_ been ignored and she _never_ would be.

In a lightning-fast move that was far more controlled than it seemed, claws and fingers wrapped around the blonde’s elbow. The noblewoman barely had to tug to make the summoner face her –and she was aware if she pulled too hard she could snap her arm like a toothpick. It was a risk, keeping her hand on Triana still. It was also a warning.

“ _Triana_.” was all she said. Cold green met colder hazel.

The Shuriman’s gaze dropped to their point of contact. For a second, Cassiopeia feared she scared her, even though intimidating the woman had been her intention since she met her. 

Triana… deflated.

Shut her pretty eyes. Her expression betrayed pain so briefly it could have been Cassiopeia’s imagination, before her hand was brought up to cover her face.

“I’m –I’m sorry.” she spoke, her accent much more noticeable than usual. “I’m not feeling well. Can we talk tomorrow?”

The Du Couteau carefully released her grip. It was both a great opportunity and a terrible time to push her for information. Cassiopeia only nodded in reply.

She didn’t know herself why she chose not to press her.

“Tomorrow, then.”

They went their separate ways.

**[Triana]**

Hurried steps carried her through the busy hallways of the Institute.

Triana was led forward with a single goal in mind; but there was a small inconvenience she had to get rid of, first. Cassiopeia’s agents.

She was aware, of course, they had been tailing her for the past weeks. Until then, it hadn’t bothered her. She had nothing to hide, so their presence was no more than a minor nuisance. If it would set her champion’s mind at ease, make her trust her just a little more, Triana would bear their eyes ever at her back. They were trained well enough to not make it too obvious, at the absolute least. If she focused entirely on her tasks, the summoner could almost forget they were even there.

Almost.

She passed through a big group of summoners moving together –and took a sharp turn at the next corner. Then Triana pulled her hood over her head, continued for a few measured steps towards an empty corridor. When she was certain no eyes were trained on her, she made towards the less-travelled, back wing of the Institute. Only staff and a few couples seeking to get away from prying eyes had reason to be there –and at that time, there was not a soul in sight.

The Shuriman entered a storage room at random. Blocked the entrance with the nearest heavy shelf. Then she reached into her robes’ inner pocket… and retrieved a stone engraved with a single, arcane sigil. As Triana channelled her magic through the mystical object, an eerie blue light began emanating from it.

With a flick of her wrist, the summoner cast the stone towards the center of the room. It stuck to the ground, severing the time and space above it in an oval shape –and creating a portal.

Triana fearlessly stepped through it.

The interior of the pocket space was pitch-black, broken only by zapping lines of blue energy flitting about. One of the crackling energies broke from the rest to come down next to her like a thunderclap –and soon, a familiar figure had morphed before her eyes.

“Xerath.” she said, cold as the dimension they stood in.

“This comes as a surprise.” his otherworldly voice came. “I was not aware of an emergency.”

“I wouldn’t risk using the stone if it wasn’t.” she hissed. Drew a deep breath that did little to calm her flaring nerves. “I need you to teleport me to Shurima _now_. If I travel I won't make it in time.”

“No.” was the stony reply.

“What do you mean ‘no’? I know you can do it without the Institute finding out.” Triana’s gaze narrowed.

“It is too risky. I will not have you blow your cover now on a _whim_.” his voice boomed around her. “Tell me what happened.”

“Those _fen’ha thel_ dug up her grave from the sand!” Triana cursed in Shuriman. _Those sons of whores._ “I will _not_ allow them to desecrate her burial chamber. You _owe_ me this.”

Xerath stilled. The stones around him closed in, dimming his light.

Then he shifted, facing her fully.

“The risks to teleporting you are many. With the League’s bindings, I have enough energy to hold the portal open for you for little less than ten minutes. If you remain locked out, you remain in Shurima –and we both will face the consequences of breaking the Institute’s rules.” Xerath said.

“You offend me. I don’t need ten minutes to kill them.” Triana replied darkly.

“I was not _done_.” he continued. “To bypass the League's wards, this will in no way be a perfect teleportation. It will take a terrible toll on your body. Once you are back here, you will feel as though every fibre in you is being pulled apart. You will suffer for _days_.”

Triana’s jaw clenched tight. She needed to come up with a good excuse for that to convince Cassiopeia, but she decided to worry about it later. “I knew there would be a price to pay. _Do_ it.”

_No price is too big for her honor._

Xerath’s body crackled with power, the stones breaking apart once more, as he directed his hand towards a side of the darkness. Another portal opened, this one to a camp lit by faint lamps in the outskirts of Shurima’s ancient capital, brought to the surface after Azir’s Ascension.

 _None of this would have happened if you hadn’t brought the city out of the sand! They never would have guessed the location of her grave!_ Triana’s mind filled with hate. Towards the one person responsible for her torment –in the past and the present both. She would suffer again, for something he caused. For something he _failed_ to prevent.

_Azir._

Triana stepped into the desert. The shift in the air was too sudden; she fought down an intense sense of vertigo. Already her body pulled at the strain of the imperfect teleportation. She grit her teeth as she dropped into a crouch, approaching the camp. Her old powers would have made her task so much easier. For a second, she lamented their loss. But she had no more time to waste.

Triana calculated her mana, the distance between her and the nearest camp guard, as well as the optimal route to the entrance of the tomb. She willed her body _forward_ –

Like a ghost, a wraith, she was behind the guard. Before he could even sense her presence, she drew three knives from his belt and sliced his throat with the first. Before his knees could hit the sand, the other two were thrown towards his fellow mercenaries, stationed closest to him. They hit vital spots –but Triana still ‘blinked’ to their location to impale their hearts with their own blades. Such was the punishment deserved for those intruding upon sacred ground.

There was nothing sacred for her in all of Shurima anymore… except that one tomb.

She slinked across the whole camp like the assassin she once was, leaving _no one_ alive. Hazel eyes looked at the watch around her wrist–three minutes had passed. She checked the portal far behind her, relieved to see it open and unwavering still.

Phantom aches were starting to course through her form. Triana once again used her technique to teleport to the entrance of the tomb. Her heart froze in her chest at the sight of the entrance gaping open.

She dashed inside.

Unlike the Tomb of Emperors, there were no deadly traps to halt intruders in this one.

But Triana was there and she was the deadliest of them all.

The Shuriman was glad to see that only the head archaeologist had ventured inside. He had navigated his way well to reach the burial chamber… but that was the end of the journey for him. Just as he was about to step into the room hosting the sarcophagus, which, as he had correctly theorized, did belong to the last High Sun Priestess…

Triana grabbed his shirt, pulled him back into an inescapable headlock. The man screamed, but she tightened her vice hold until his cries dimmed.

“Sh. You cannot disturb her sleep.” she said.

The archaeologist flailed helplessly. He was drowning in his panic because deep down he _knew_. “Please! Please, I—I have children! Mercy!”

“Mercy.” Triana repeated, keeping her voice deadly-low. “I discarded that weakness from my heart two thousand years ago.”

A loud crack echoed across the chamber –and then nothing more.

The summoner teleported his body outside, so it wouldn’t stain the interior. She once again glanced at the time. Four minutes were left. She could seal the tomb and leave early, lessen the suffering of her muscles later on.

Yet.

Triana's resolve wavered. Compelled by the still-bleeding strings of her heart, she went back inside.

This time, she did not stop at the threshold of the burial chamber. She walked in, past the piles of statues and riches said to accompany the High Priestess to the afterlife.

Heavy steps halted before the gold sarcophagus in the middle of the room. Triana reached out, hesitant, with the hand that wasn’t strained by blood. It came to rest atop the cool lid.

Her throat closed up. Her vision blurred. She tried to remain strong, composed, but the whole world suddenly felt as though it was coming apart for her all over again.

“I—” she tried to speak, though the words cracked before ever leaving her mouth.

Memories from the day that ruined her life crashed into her like tidal waves.

_A flaming temple._

_Triana had been in the palace, celebrating her latest victory when she looked out the window and saw it. The smile went cold on her face. The tankard in her hand hit the floor with an audible clank, red wine spilling across polished marble like blood._

_Her name was called by most present –louder by Xerath. Loudest by Azir._

_She did not hear them over the sound of her rapidly pounding heart as she dashed straight out the window –crossed the city like only a phantom would. By the time she got to the Sun Temple, the whole structure was one giant vortex of fire._

_Triana had screamed out for the High Priestess, but no reply came from the inside._

_She dashed into the flames._

_She didn’t care that she couldn’t breathe. She didn’t care that she could barely see. She didn’t care if she_ burned _to save her._

 _“_ Mother _!!!” she shouted through the roars of the fire._

_“My love, no!” the woman said from the inner sanctum, reaching a hand out to her as though to warn her about something._

_Then—a figure leapt out of a wall of flame._

_A man, clad in black from head to toe, holding a thin vial in hand. Before she could react, it was smashed against the right side of her face. The glass shards dug into her skin… but it was nothing compared to the acid released from within._

_Fire seemed cold before that all-encompassing burn._

_Triana screamed; her whole body went into shock._

_From the corner of her unruined eye, however, she saw him, even as she fell on the ground. She_ saw _him drive his blade across her mother’s throat._

_Fire didn’t burn like acid._

_Acid did not burn like hatred._

Tears flowed down her cheeks, without pause. The floodgates had opened and everything she was trying to hold deep inside came rushing out. Centuries of supressed emotions. Repressed hurt enough to build an empire out of it.

Triana crumbled to her knees like a statue that couldn’t hold itself up in the passage of time. Her forehead knocked against the chilled gold of the sarcophagus.

“Mother.” she said. _Did you see it coming? Did you see this far?_ “Forgive me. _Please_ , _forgive_ me.”

Triana had thought herself invincible. She’d conquered vast lands for her empire –she was its sharpest blade. But she had been weak where it mattered most. To think she would collapse under acid like a tower of cards.

To think that she, at the end of the day, had been only _human_.

_Never again._

“I will not stand so weak again. I will not be defeated again.” Triana stood, tears still running down her cheeks. “Nobody shall disturb your rest while I live –and I will live _forever_.”

Triana made sure to seal the tomb again on her way out. She reset the combination at the entrance, to something no archaeologist would be able to open. Then she teleported to the portal, with only a few seconds left on her countdown.

Xerath visibly shook from the strain when he closed the opening behind her.

For Triana, the price was steeper.

The Shuriman collapsed on one knee, unable to keep herself up. White-hot pain flared from every pore in her body. As the magus had warned, it felt as though her muscles were being pulled apart. Rended, at the seams.

She fought to stand. Managed it through willpower alone.

“Keep yourself from moving too much until the side-effects die down.” Xerath said. “No more matches until you’ve recovered –don’t push yourself too far.”

“Yeah…” Triana grit out, limping towards the storage room, out of the pocket dimension. _Gods, what do I tell Cassiopeia…_

“Need I remind you that you owe her nothing?” he asked. The old weasel always knew far too much about her affairs.

“It’s… not all about… debt.” she said, through great effort.

“Whatever it may be about, I suggest you stop before you get too deeply mixed up with them. The Du Couteaus are a pit of vipers, no different than the court we both despised in Shurima.” Xerath spoke.

“Mind your own…damn business.”

“It was only a word of advice… Triana?” An ominous laugh lingered in the vanishing darkness behind her. “That is what you call yourself these days, is it not?”

The portal didn’t leave a single trace behind.

Triana reached down to retrieve Xerath’s stone, putting it back in her inner pocket.

Getting to the Gold dorm and to her room after that was a war all on its own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soo... Triana is one cold devil when she wants to be -and yes, I have a thing for characters who are pillars of ice to the world but mushy little marshmallows to their significant other. Cassiopeia thinks Triana has hidden motives to be so loyal to her because she hasn't done anything to ''buy'' her devotion... but maybe she has and just doesn't know it yet ;). Either way, writing these two's interactions is fun. 
> 
> If you're left with more questions than answers, that is the point ;p all will be answered as the story progresses. 
> 
> If you're like me and need a song to go with a character, check out 'Eat you Alive' (by Riell & Cadmium & Skrybe) fits for Triana perfectly, but the vibe matches Cass' as well.
> 
> Ps: Another early update because of work, work, work. Hope you like ;)


	6. Chapter 6

**[Triana]**

Her suffering lasted two full days.

The symptoms ranged from muscle spasms, to needle-sharp, sudden aches, to full-body shivers. Triana was freezing cold one moment and burning like she’d been thrown in an oven the next. She was nauseous, exhausted, but she couldn’t sleep and her mind was all over the place from it. Somewhere along the line, she’d managed to send Cassiopeia a text about being too sick to even leave her room.

Her condition began to stabilize on the third day. Through great effort and willpower, Triana had managed to cross the few paces to her bathroom and take a revitalizing cold shower. She changed the sheets, opened the windows to allow some fresh air into her room... and then she crashed right back onto her mattress.

Hazel eyes drooped as soon as her head hit the pillow...

Triana wasn’t certain how long she’d been asleep for –the sun was still up, so it couldn’t have been long— when the sound of her ringtone blared in her ears. The noise sent another ill wave through her, all the way up to her pounding temples. She didn’t look at the caller ID when she dragged the device to her ear.

“Ae?” Her brain automatically reverted to Shuriman. “Yes?” she tiredly corrected a second later.

 _“Where in every god’s name have you_ been _?”_ Cassiopeia’s voice came from the speaker, downright _pissed_. On a side note… she sounded hot when she was angry. Dangerous, like she could ruin one’s life if pressed a little bit further –and no doubt she actually would.

“Ugh, in my room. I’m not well.” Triana slurred.

 _“You have one chance to tell me the truth if you’re lying to me. Only_ one _.”_ the champion said.

“I’m not.”

 _“Alright, then.”_ Cassiopeia hang up without another word.

Triana had barely dropped her phone onto the bed when she heard gasps from outside. A knock came at her closed door. In her haze, the summoner didn’t put two and two together.

“It’s open but go away.” was drawled.

She rethought that command when the door smacked open. None other than Cassiopeia Du Couteau was standing there, bathed from the light of the hallway in intense highlights and shadows, like an ancient statue come to life. The deadly-serious look on her porcelain face only accented the image. Triana was certain she could petrify people even without her powers. That she could, even before them.

The serpentine woman slithered into her room without the need of something as basic as an invitation. The door was closed with a flick of her tail –and the few summoners that dared look inside appeared terrified for Triana, before they were cut out of view.

The Shuriman wasn’t scared, but a nervous zap did go down her spine. It was one thing to talk to Cassiopeia outside, on neutral ground, another to have her in her room while she was vulnerable. She didn’t like people near her when she was unwell. Triana had always gone through her storms alone.

She summoned confidence she didn’t necessarily feel, as she smiled in greeting. “Hey.”

Cassiopeia crossed her arms, but the frown on her beautiful face no longer was one of anger and suspicion. “You look… terrible.”

Triana grimaced. “Thanks.”

“Don’t worry, it’s still far better than most people’s norm.”

The sourness turned into a genuine smile. “Thanks.”

“Don’t let it go to your head.” Cassiopeia said quickly.

She uncrossed her arms, her gaze flitting about the space. There wasn’t much to see, as Triana hadn’t bothered changing the decoration from the standard Gold room, other than move some things around to make more room for the desk. A few history books borrowed from the library were neatly arranged on it. On one side of the blank walls, she had put up two abstract paintings of Shurima, one where the deserts were painted in vibrant reds and yellows, the other in midnight blues and blacks. Lime-green eyes lingered on it appreciatively for a moment.

“You didn’t think I was actually ill.” It was more a statement than a question.

Cassiopeia’s attention was back on her. “I believe things better when I see them.”

Triana couldn’t even find the strength to move from her prone position in the bed to look at her properly. She instead stayed there like a dried fish. And she sure felt like one.

The noblewoman’s focus intensified, then. She came just a tad closer, while the summoner tried to convince herself she wasn’t growing self-conscious under that scrutinizing gaze. “Triana.” she spoke. “…Your heartbeat is really off.”

“Yeah. I know.” The blonde huffed.

“Yes, you _know_ , but why aren’t you in the Med Wing?” Cassiopeia asked. “Soraka would help you get over this faster. I can have people carry you there right now—”

“No!” Triana exclaimed, a bit too loudly. _Sheiss, think of something to say._ Soraka would understand right away that her symptoms were those of an unconventional, forced teleportation to bypass the Institute’s magic wards. “I—I’m not going. I’m not too fond of hospitals.” It was a bad excuse, but she rolled with it. “If you make me go, they’ll keep me off matches for days –and if I don’t, I’ll be back on schedule tomorrow. I promise.”

“You need medical _help_.” Cassiopeia stated.

“I _don’t_.” Triana pushed herself up to prove a point. It hurt like hell, chills went through her in the process, but she braced through the time it took to bring her body into a sitting position.

The heiress gracefully lowered herself on the edge of her mattress, expression unreadable as a smooth mask. A whiff of her expensive perfume carried over to tickle the blonde’s nose with the motion. Triana had smelled it before, but it only then hit her how perfectly the fragrance of azaleas suited the noble. 

Cassiopeia hesitated for a mere, uncharacteristic moment before a hand was slowly raised between them, a wordless request for permission. Most people would instinctively pull away from claws that could too easily cut their skin like butter. Triana wasn’t sure if it was foolish of her to trust another’s control so completely, yet there wasn’t a single heartbeat of hesitation as she inclined her head, a fraction of a centimetre. 

Cool skin made contact with her feverish forehead, soothing, like a spring in the scorched desert. She resisted the urge to chase after the sensation when it was gone, all too quickly, the next second. 

“You’re burning _up_.”

“I’m naturally hot.” she forced herself to grin. The room suddenly felt smaller for reasons the blonde couldn’t begin to explain.

“Stop grinning like that, you remind me of my sister.” Cassiopeia’s tone turned flat.

“Nice.” Triana’s smirk came unbidden, that time.

“No, it’s not a good thing. I want to strangle her half the time.” The Shuriman laughed at that. “Speaking of her…” the champion began. “I need to be in Noxus for a few days and Talon won’t be around, either. She’ll be your champion to climb with until I come back.”

Triana hummed in acceptance. She didn’t mind the change, though she would have preferred to keep Cassiopeia around. She kept things interesting.

“Do you like Katarina?” the noblewoman asked out of the blue, making the summoner pause.

“In… what way?”

Cassiopeia’s lips curved into a smirk as deadly as it was attractive. “In every way, because you’re going to date her.”

Triana’s eyes widened. She opened her mouth, only to come up with nothing at first. Then her brain caught up to the information presented to her, realizing the motive behind it.

It was a publicity stunt.

Katarina had a reputation of changing women like she changed clothes, but the girls she dated always got their fifteen minutes of fame under the spotlight of the one and only Sinister Blade. Her gigantic fanclub made it so the media was always focused on her in some way.

In short, it was the fastest way to get her famous.

“Don’t I get a say in this?” Triana chuckled.

“Funny, most girls would be happier.” Cassiopeia commented, wryly amused. “But either way, no, you don’t. You’ll simply go on one or two dates where the lens can see you and let the media draw their own conclusions. I’ll have my people send you some designer clothes tonight. Whatever your fellow summoners ask, never confirm or deny.”

“Got it.” Triana said.

“Good.” Cassiopeia nodded. “I will see you in a few days.” She stood to her full height. “Be back on your feet when I return.”

Triana smiled. “Yes, boss.” Cassiopeia seemed to like that one, if the tiny curl of her lip was any indication. “Don’t miss me too much.”

The noblewoman rolled her pretty eyes in a way that made them stand out like gems shimmering under the curtain-filtered light. “I’ll _try_.” she replied sardonically, before she turned, leaving the way she came.

Triana found herself caught over that look, over the color of her irises then. It still surprised her that anything could be so vibrant _green_ , the hue blades of grass took under the golden grace of the sun.

She’d been in awe of it from the very first time she saw it…

In a tomb meant to hold her trapped for eternity.

…

Triana could stand solidly on her feet the fourth day.

Her stomach was growling rather than turning, which was a good sign in her book. She’d survived on water and the few peaches left in her room’s mini-fridge the past seventy-two hours. It was time to head to the cafeteria for some real food. The blonde eagerly stepped out of her chambers.

Her dormmates seemed surprised she was even alive.

“H-hey, is it true Cassiopeia Du Couteau came to your room yesterday?” a scrawny-looking guy asked. Triana held no doubts the gossip about her was spreading far and wide. “What did she want with you?”

Only a cryptic smirk was offered in return. “Wouldn’t you like to know.” The Shuriman refused to share anything else as she made her way down the stairs, to the exit of the building.

The cafeteria smelled like _heaven_. Mouth-watering pastries stood proudly on display on one corner of the massive self-service counter, while all sorts of foods were neatly arranged on the other. Triana took a small donut sprinkled with rainbow candy, while the rest of her tray was dominated by toast and fries.

Nearly all her senses were attuned to the wonderful food in front of her…

But her instincts sharply warned of a presence approaching from behind.

Triana fought down the urge to turn and grab the hand coming down onto her back. She’d searched the person’s intentions within a split second; she knew who it was, that they meant her no harm.

Katarina’s palm made sudden contact with her shoulder. She tried not to flinch at the electric shock going through her still-recovering muscles.

“Morning.” the redhead greeted. “You’re up and kicking, I see.”

“I’m up and eating.” she replied with a small smile, taking a bite off her toast. _The Institute’s food makes the whole thing worth it, I swear._

The assassin sat in the chair across from her, black coffee in hand. “You better be in top shape for our game.”

“Don’t worry, it only hurts when I breathe.”

Katarina gave a tiny chuckle. Her emerald eyes, two shades darker than Cassiopeia’s, shifted down to the plate between them… and Triana, in silent dismay, accepted what was going to happen. Her final slice of buttery toast was snatched in an instant. No hesitation. It was assassinated on the spot, along with several fries. 

“How am I going to be in top shape if you steal my food?” the blonde asked.

“This stuff is bad for your health. I’m looking out for my future date –and you’re welcome.” Katarina winked at the end, as if her beauty would help her get away with it. She could almost make the food-snatching look attractive – _almost_. Triana decided good looks ran in the family. 

“I’m charmed already.” she deadpanned.

Katarina smirked.

Eyed her donut.

But the Shuriman was prepared to fight for that one.

Her fork and Katarina’s knife bit into the pastry at the exact same time. Their narrowed gazes locked, neither backing out as they shifted the poor thing around, testing the weak points of the other’s hold. The assassin gave a sharp flick of her wrist; and the donut flew in the air, taking several stylish flips on its way down. Triana could easily summon her magic and win their little battle –but she wanted the challenge.

Instead of going for the donut, she went for Katarina’s blade, locking it down with the teeth of the fork. Jade eyes widened. Triana grabbed one side of the chocolaty goodness as it fell, but the redhead did the same with the other.

In the end, the pastry was split in two.

Both sides were devoured before any cream had the chance to spill out. 

Katarina twirled her knife between her fingers, cleaning it with a napkin afterwards. “Bold move.” Her gaze betrayed she was mildly impressed, even if her voice did not.

“How are you such a ladykiller _sensation_ if this is how you treat all your dates?” Triana asked, brow creasing in a small frown.

Katarina chuckled. “Not all of them.” she said, smirking. “Only the ones I find interesting.”

…

Katarina felt different than Cassiopeia in the summoning bond. Her opposite, in nearly every sense.

Where the younger sister was methodical and calculating, planning her moves ahead and reacting to every subtle shift of her opponents’ movements, the elder was aggressive, impatient in her constant itching to draw blood. Her actions forced others to act according to _her_.

One’s emotions were cool like a river, the other’s hot like a flame.

Cassiopeia perceived the world as a network of strings. Pull one too tightly too fast and the whole thing could come crashing down. Apply just the right amount of pressure and you control the structure.

Katarina, on the other hand, saw a battlefield. Violence was what she’d been taught to solve her problems with, her sword and her shield. Her eye registered weak points and targets in everything –in objects, in people.

Luckily, Triana could put herself in both positions. Her own truth lay somewhere between the two. 

Blades locked in the Rift.

Zed and Katarina clashed again and again, creating a cacophony of metallic screeches. His summoner wasn’t great –Triana’s keen eye could catch miniscule lag and uncoordinated strikes— but he was comfortable with his champion and well aware of his strengths. The enemy assassin was onto the redhead early on, where she stood at her weakest.

 _“We need to throw him off of you.”_ Triana spoke through their mental link. Katarina grit her teeth and pushed; with a flare of the Shuriman’s magic, she managed to break her stalemate with Zed. A deadly, spinning kick was delivered to his throat, putting him several paces back, for the time being.

But unless they got kills from elsewhere, their lane wasn’t going to have any impact. After returning to the base, Katarina dashed her way through the jungle and towards the bottom lane. Their teammates, Ashe and Nami, were pushed up, but Sivir and Braum still made an easier target than the fed Urgot dominating the top of the map.

Katarina’s energy sparked at the prospect of a kill. Her senses homed in on her targets… and she leapt into the fray from the nearby bushes, two daggers aimed straight at Sivir’s vitals. Braum leapt in the way just in time to block them with his giant shield, while the mercenary threw her Chalicar to slow her down. It nicked the edge of her bicep, but Katarina barely seemed to notice the pain.

“Do it!” she shouted at Ashe, who had already began to channel her ultimate arrow. Blue eyes lit up like twin moons. The string was let loose, Braum soon frozen on the spot, enough for the assassin to _shunpo_ into his face and slice at his throat. 

But she was not satisfied.

Anger, rather than a sense of accomplishment, fuelled the Sinister Blade’s next dagger throw.

Sivir rolled behind her tower to avoid it. The blade hit the metal shield with an audible clack, nailing into the soil below.

“Well, this surprises absolutely no one.” Sivir chuckled. Triana felt a pang of irritation build at the back of her neck that had nothing to do with Katarina’s emotions. “Oh wait—maybe it does. A Du Couteau that attacks from the front, rather than the _back_.”

Katarina’s eyes narrowed to slits. She looked every bit a wild animal scratching at the ground with eager claws, ready to _pounce_. “I’ll make you _shut_ it.” Triana pulled the assassin to head towards her lane, before they lost too much experience to Zed. She begrudgingly began to walk away.

But Sivir knew her sore spot –and she wasn’t one to let go of an opportunity.

“I’m not responsible for her choices, you know? I was the one bleeding out on the ground.” she said, lip curling before she delivered the killing blow. “But I guess all is good now that she got what she deserved. Karma sure hits like a _bitch_.”

Katarina’s emotions fluctuated. Rage clouded reason. She saw _red_. 

Triana knew this was something she wouldn’t let go of. Couldn’t.

Some things ran too deep to move past. The Shuriman understood it too well.

Some things could only be paid back in _blood_.

Somewhere between Ashe’s warning not to let Sivir get to her and Nami’s reaching out to stop her, Triana offered no resistance to Katarina’s shunpo. She endorsed the attack every step of the way, even as the mercenary used her magical shield to absorb the blunt of the force.

The summoner made sure it didn’t matter.

Of one will with her assassin, to _kill_ regardless of consequences, the blonde pushed their combined strength to its limit. Katarina’s sword shoved at the Chalikar so sharply Sivir was forced to step back.

“How is this possible—” she began to ask, but the redhead used the momentary lapse of balance to stab her through the throat. There was no mercy in her heart as she did it. Her thirst for vengeance wasn’t quelled –deep down she knew it was misplaced— but it was a small sort of catharsis to silence Sivir so completely.

 _“Stay_ silent _before me.”_ Triana and Katarina spoke in unison.

The tower killed the assassin soon after, of course, but there were no regrets.

Something changed in their bond, after that. Something that lacked a name, but held enough gravity to almost be a physical substance.

They should have lost more than they gained from that play and yet.

Yet.

Zed’s arm quivered under Katarina’s swords. It surprised even her, that she could push him back so easily. The master of shadows was the only one who didn’t seem confused by the shift in the power balance. He retracted his blades, instead, turning away from his minions despite his summoner’s calls to fight.

“This match is over.” he said. “…Du Couteau, that is no normal summoner you have.”

Katarina’s lip curled into a deadly smirk. “I know.” 

…

Triana was awarded the Platinum brooch, bathed under the praise of her teammates and the critics present. She didn’t care much for it, but she put on her best smile for the cameras before walking down the steps of the rookie arena.

Colorful swears drew her attention, backstage. Katarina was locked in a heated argument with Tryndamere, something about how it was even _possible_ for him to feed his ass off so completely. The two were barely held back from solving it with blows by Ashe, caught in the middle, trying to separate them from each other. The Shuriman’s mouth curved up at the sight as she began walking away.

Another voice reached her ears, then, making her halt. “Hey, you.” _Sivir_. Triana’s jaw worked as she debated turning around. In the end, she simply looked over her right shoulder. “You’re Shuriman.”

“We are not from the same place.” came the icy reply.

“Still, us children of the sands should stick together. Trust me, you don’t want to get mixed up with _them_.” she spat the word like a curse.

“And who do I want to get mixed up with?” she asked, but she already knew the answer.

She already knew hearing it would set her _ablaze_.

“Shurima’s rightful Emperor.”

Triana’s shoulders shook in a hollow laugh. “Then I guess one of us is in the wrong place.” The summoner continued on her way without another word.

She was halfway across the yard when she noticed her palm was bleeding. Hazel eyes were cast down to it.

Four bloody crescents marked her skin, from where her nails had dug into too tightly during that brief exchange.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I re-wrote their interaction in Triana's room more times than I can count. Their first skin-on-skin contact may not look like much, but if you consider Cassiopeia hasn't touched anybody in three years out of fear (and the times she did they either died or flinched away, terrified) the scene suddenly gets a whole new weight to it. And Triana, keeping everybody at arm's length, suddenly has someone step past a barrier, close. In my mind, I'm always reminding myself to take baby steps with them, because they're incredibly guarded and distrustful people and I want their relationship to develop as naturally as possible (without boring your asses off in the process.) Delicate balance there. 
> 
> Bonding time with Katarina afterwards was just plain fun to write -because deep down, these two are the same brand of 'idiots' so they get along like coffee and sugar. Also, don't insult Cass in front of big sis, it tends to not end well. 
> 
> P.S: Kat's an asshole with everyone, but even more so with those she takes a liking to. ;)


	7. Chapter 7

**[Cassiopeia]**

Her time in Noxus was nothing short of stressful.

Cassiopeia had spent days and nights trading favors and forging alliances with other noble houses, all while directing her agents to dig up secrets and dirt to blackmail them with, if push came to shove.

Their enemies were many –malicious eyes that had been trained on the seat of power their family held, for generations. The ordeal with Zeke weakened them far more than her pride allowed her to admit. The former diplomat knew they needed a shield at their back while they turned their attention to the upcoming match against Demacia, lest they end up with blades embedded in it.

The hectic flow of information left little room for her own research. Cassiopeia’s mind was swarmed by far too many undercover conspiracies to even think about the scroll Elise would bring her, upon her return from the Shadow Isles. 

Stepping back into the Institute was almost a _relief_.

The amount of politics that followed her there was cut down to half, the line separating ally from foe grew much more defined. Her suite was familiar, _safe,_ in a way her mansion no longer was; a space she controlled every inch of, clear of ghosts from the past coming to haunt her at moments of vulnerability. Free of any frames hosting pictures of a person she’d never be again. Clean of memories of her losing control, lashing out at the staff that had raised her and cutting them _down_ — 

Cassiopeia shut her eyes as if to vanquish the images.

Luckily, her thoughts could not linger on those dark days long. Triana’s ranked match was half an hour away and the noblewoman desperately needed the distraction. Everything was so very simple in the Rift.

It didn’t take long to reach the intermediate arenas. From there, it was even easier to spot a certain trio, standing out like a fly floating in milk. Katarina was demonstrating something with her knife, which caused Talon to huff and Triana to stifle a chuckle.

“So instead of looking at Twitch in wonder, you could have flanked like this…” the redhead said, bringing her blade dangerously close to the summoner’s neck. “And pop, _pop_ goes the rodent –easy win.”

“And I will say it again, not _all_ summoners are Triana—” Talon’s voice held an exasperated edge to it, before his eyes locked on Cassiopeia. Broad shoulders squared up.

Katarina and Triana very carefully turned towards her, while the Serpent’s Embrace regarded them with a deeply scrutinizing look. On one hand, the platinum brooch on the Shuriman’s chest was a sign that everything flowed according to plan in her absence. On the other… this was Katarina she left with her summoner. No _way_ everything ran smoothly.

“You’re back.” the redhead said, casually flipping her blade away from Triana’s neck and into the sheath at her belt.

“I trust all went well? No trouble while I was away?” Cassiopeia mentally braced for the answer.

The mage and assassin exchanged a brief look. One that roughly translated to: ‘what she doesn’t know can’t hurt her’.

“Nope.” Katarina said, flat.

“None at all.” Triana smiled her too-charming smile.

Cassiopeia glared at them both, entirely unconvinced. “…Is it reportable?”

“I just may have threatened a summoner. A little bit.” Katarina gestured with her thumb and pointer. “I may have slammed him against a wall, too. Also a tiny bit.” The younger sister was already feeling a headache coming up. “But he knows better than to report us.”

Cassiopeia was certain it was more than that, but she chose to let it slide for the sake of her mental health. “Whatever, we’ll talk about this later.” she said with a shake of her head, joining Triana’s wonderfully scented side. For someone who avoided people like the plague for the past three years, she couldn’t explain why that felt so natural to do.

“We’re heading in. See you tonight.” Triana cocked her chin towards Katarina.

“Yeah, yeah, just plain ditch me for my sister, why don’t you.” the assassin shrugged.

“Both of you at the same time is a lot to handle.” Triana smirked. Anyone else saying that would be missing a limb.

“ _Tell_ me about it.” Talon widened his eyes.

Normally, he was about as expressive as a stone around summoners. It meant something that Triana could coax grimaces out of him, or stray touches from Katarina. Something dangerous.

She was growing on them.

And if Cassiopeia were completely honest…

On all _three_ of them.

…

Their following matches were like a breath of fresh air after being up locked up in a single room for too long. There was release in keeping nothing back. In sheer power.

Cassiopeia beat their opponents down with strength she’d never been able to appreciate before. Her claws broke down turrets and towers like they were nothing, weak stone that crumbled before her will. Loss of control seemed like a faraway concept with Triana, who was a steady anchor at the edge of her mind.

For a split second, Cassiopeia remembered what it was like to stand at the top of the world.

But victory came quickly and with it, the piles upon piles of burdens held at bay crashed right back on top of her. The noblewoman took the weight silently, as she always had. She made certain to lock that place of her psyche out of sight, so Triana wouldn’t see.

“There’s a lot on your mind.” the summoner stated.

Cassiopeia’s nerves gave a fleeting flare. She didn’t like it when she wasn’t the one doing the reading on others. “There always is.”

“I mean, yes, but I thought the trip home would be more… relaxing?”

She couldn’t exactly explain to Triana that Noxus hadn’t been home for quite some time. That there was only pain and leftovers of a different life, there. If she could, she’d never return to her mansion at all. It served as a stark reminder of everything she had. Everything she _lost_.

It only made her feel that much more scattered.

One piece of her buried in Shurima. Another haunting her silent house in Noxus, wandering the empty halls like a phantom that refused to perish. She wasn’t even sure what was left still breathing and orchestrating plans.

“As relaxing as a knife hovering over your back.” Cassiopeia spoke.

“Ah. That sounds homey, alright.” Triana stated, then shook her head as though she didn’t mean to say it.

Lime eyes regarded her wonderingly. Surely, her upbringing in Shurima was vastly different. She couldn’t understand; there were no titles or hungry nobles there, clawing at pieces of others for a chance to expand their influence. Noxus was one of the few things Cassiopeia wouldn’t lie to say she loved, but she wasn’t blind to its flaws. She always wished things were different.

Triana’s gaze shifted to the afternoon sky, before it settled back on her. “Would you like to come with me for coffee? I don’t think I can handle a night out with Katarina without it.”

Cassiopeia’s lip tugged into a smirk. “I’d like to,” she inwardly frowned at her own choice of words. “But I have another match in a few minutes.”

“Well…” Triana accented the word with a tiny shrug. “I can wait for you.”

_But why would you?_

Cassiopeia rolled the thought around her mind for a hot second. “You can.” she eventually said.

Triana beamed as she turned to sit on the nearest bench, legs crossed, with all the grace of a panther lazily stretching under the setting sun. Cassiopeia wondered if her fluidity came from dancing or martial arts. If those uncomplimentary summoner robes hid all the ripples of muscle that made it possible.

She convinced herself she didn’t really care as she spotted her next partner, a man recently promoted to Diamond, waiting by the entrance. He seemed to regret all his life choices the moment her gaze met his –and Triana, of course, noticed.

“Looks like _that’s_ gonna be a blast.” she joked. Maybe all that time with Katarina was bad for her.

The heiress gave her an unimpressed look. “Careful how you speak about your superiors, Triana.” She cast the jab at the blonde’s pride. “He outranks you.”

“Not for long.” The Shuriman stated. Cassiopeia liked to hear that.

“Who knows, maybe he proves that much better than you and I am forced to reconsider certain things.” she prodded. The mage’s brow creased with a single line. It was just so _fun_ to get to her, at long last.

“Oh, please.” Triana said, all the confidence in the world balanced atop her shoulders. “I’m second to _none_.”

Cassiopeia kept her smirk to herself as she commanded her body back to the arena.

…

It was a victory. But one too close for comfort.

The whole match was a far cry from what her earlier ones had been. Cassiopeia was certain they only won because the enemy team messed up at the end fight, in the dragon pit.

She would never let Triana know that, though.

The blonde was idly playing with her phone by the time Cassiopeia reached her. The Shuriman stood, slipped the device into her pocket and easily fell into step beside her. They made their way to the coffee shop in comfortable silence.

“So, how did it go?” The summoner asked, as the noble knew she would.

“Excellent.” Cassiopeia lied with a completely straight face. “You’re not that special, after all.”

“But I am still your favorite.” Triana said it like it was a universal fact, mock-cocky in a way that had no right to come off as _that_ charming.

“‘Favorite’ is a stretch.” Cassiopeia commented dryly. “I may just happen to dislike you a little less than most other summoners.”

Triana feigned a pain in her heart, but it didn’t stop her from pulling a chair out for the champion. The waiter that came over was a young man, who seemed to have a very difficult time taking his eyes off the Shuriman. Her hazel orbs, on the other hand, regarded him as flatly as one would a stone on the side of the road.

Triana’s blatant lack of interest in most people was something the noblewoman did not miss. It made her wonder what the blonde saw when she looked at the world. If its reflection was as cold to her as it was to Cassiopeia.

Then she wondered what she saw when she looked at _her_.

The Du Couteau averted her thoughts from the painful line of self-doubt to what she was most comfortable with— business.

“Since we’re here, it is as good a time as any for you to see this.” She spoke, sliding her phone across the table.

Triana looked down at the video playing on the screen. It was a replay dug straight out of the League’s storage, showing the summoners in the arena at the time of the match, parallel to what was happening in the Rift. Two of Demacia’s best mages, both in Challenger rank, were in it, providing the perfect opportunity to study their opponents.

Triana observed the game wordlessly, for a while. Cassiopeia had seen it a dozen times, so she didn’t study the video as much as she did the blonde. She was curious if they would arrive to the same conclusions.

“They’re really good.” Triana commented halfway through. “At first glance, they have no flaws.”

“Nothing is without flaw. The tricky part is knowing how to exploit it.”

“Clearly, they’re used to working together. Their coordination isn’t something our team can replicate, so we stand at a disadvantage there.” Triana began. “They seem to complete each other; Fiora’s summoner is careful and thinks every move through beforehand, while Garen’s relies more on brute force and instinct.” she said. “But. He’s hot-blooded. He got too reckless as the match drew on. And she was so eager to end their game a lot of things slipped by her, at the end.”

A dark smile crossed Cassiopeia’s ruby lips. “Exactly.” The way she said it was almost a praise. “His temper can be abused. Her tunnel vision to victory can be her undoing, in the right circumstances.”

“Can it, though? If they get close to victory, it’s over for our team.” Triana stated. It was partially true, the Noxian side was not made for defense.

However.

“Allow me to demonstrate.” Cassiopeia spoke, resting an elbow on the table and offering her hand to Triana. It was the most delicate way anybody could issue a challenge for arm-wrestling.

The summoner raised an amused eyebrow, her mouth quirked into a sharp smirk. “Really? You think I’m stupid enough to struggle against your strength?”

Lime eyes narrowed in mirth. “I will tone it down to your level.”

Cassiopeia had known Triana wouldn’t back away, of course. And yet she hadn’t been prepared for the warm hand that locked in place with her own, sun-kissed skin smooth against her marble fingers, before they gave way to claws. A tense breath caught at the base of her throat. Her tail coiled tightly. That could very well have been the first sustained contact she had in years. And if she allowed her mind to linger on it too long…

It was _terrifying_.

A hundred ‘what ifs’ threatened to swallow her whole. What if something set her off and Triana lost a limb in the process? What if her control wasn’t as solid as she believed? What if—

But Triana’s eyes were so _eager_ as she looked at their joined hands. She wasn’t afraid. She was excited. For some unfathomable reason –and yes, the noblewoman decided the mage must be crazy to some degree because of it— she trusted her.

So, Cassiopeia decided to trust herself.

“Go.” she said.

Triana didn’t hold anything back. She pressed suddenly, with all her strength, going straight for the kill. An assassin’s approach to a fight. Cassiopeia lost ground, but she kept her hand from touching the table.

The blonde was surprisingly strong. _All these hours in gyms aren’t just for show, it seems._ the noblewoman mused.

Triana’s jaw clenched. She went for the finishing push in a burst of strength—

But Cassiopeia used hers to flat-out pin her hand to the table, as easily as smacking down a feather.

Hazel eyes widened. “What—” she looked up at the heiress, who couldn’t keep her smirk to herself.

“What?” Cassiopeia asked, feigning ignorance.

“ _How_ is this toned down to my level?” Triana demanded.

“Oh, it isn’t. But you were so focused on winning you didn’t even _consider_ I could be lying.” She replied, sliding her hand back to her side and freeing the summoner’s in the process. The warmth of her evaporated from her skin too quickly. “My father always said one is at their weakest not a moment before defeat –but a moment before victory.”

She could almost hear his deep voice in the back of her mind, saying those words again to Katarina. Then she could hear him speaking different ones –an order that drew the decisive line between the two of them. Between all of them.

“Sounds wise. Mine was just a _bastard_.” Triana said it jokingly but…

But.

Cassiopeia caught the ice in her gaze, the hate in the word. She had no doubt, at that point, Triana was tortured by something. Rooted deep, where the light couldn’t shine, yet it was _always_ there. Looming over her. Haunting her. If it was related to blood, perhaps they were more similar than the noblewoman would ever like to admit.

So many mysteries, surrounding her.

“Well. Depending on who you ask, the adjectives to describe him were many.” Cassiopeia said, before she opted to change the subject.

Talon would call him ‘master’, but what he really meant was ‘savior’. From Katarina’s point of view, after their mother’s death, their father had been little more than a selfish _bastard_.

Cassiopeia was the only one who still couldn’t decide if she should honor his memory or spit on it. If she loved or loathed him. If she understood his order to end her suffering…

Or if she felt _betrayed_.

…

Some nights were exceptionally bad.

Cassiopeia lay awake in her queen-sized bed, palms pressed tight over her eyes. Reeling, from yet another nightmare. Screams and howls echoed in her ears, in the depths of her mind. Her tail writhed in phantom pain, a burn that echoed throughout every scale and up to her brain like a lash. Everything was engulfed by—

 _Fire_.

Fangs and teeth locked together. Claws dug into already-torn sheets as if to find purchase on something _real_ , an anchor in the madness. The black hole pulling at her would swallow her sanity completely, otherwise. Cassiopeia struggled to control her flaring senses, crying out that danger was near – _everywhere_ — when there was nothing but herself present.

She’d braced through it a million times. She told herself she could do it again.

The panic gradually began to subside.

By the time the room stopped spinning, by the time air could flow back into her lungs, Cassiopeia willed her body into a sitting position. She counted her heartbeats, then turned her attention outside, to the soft whistle of the wind, the sounds of the nocturnal animals out there. They represented life…

The opposite of tombs.

For a few precious moments, her hearing travelled far; soothed by the harmony of nature.

And then—

“But _look_ at the Noxian Wing though!!” Katarina’s voice positively _burst_ through her eardrums.

Cassiopeia jumped; cast a glare past her closed door that might as well have been a spear.

“How _sexy_ is it…! All this red and black!” The yells continued, coming closer. Louder. And yes, Katarina sounded drunk out of her mind, but the younger sister’s nerves were already flaring outside her _body_ — 

Cassiopeia shoved the door open so powerfully it would have flown clean off its hinges had it not been enchanted. The loud bang reverberated through the hallway, yet it paled in comparison to the venom in the noblewoman’s voice. “Will you _shut_ —”

Somewhere along the way of glaring cold murder at her idiot of a sister, flashing lime eyes met surprised hazel. The rest of Cassiopeia’s sentence died on her tongue.

Triana was right there, standing awkwardly with Katarina’s arm slung over her shoulders for support, dressed in the designer clothes Cassiopeia had sent her but never dared to picture _on_ her. It only then occurred to the younger Du Couteau that the form-fitting leather pants and the equally tight high-neck, sleeveless black top may not have been her brightest idea. Because although she always suspected Triana was well-built, she didn’t have to _know_ how toned her arms were, or how tight her shoulders and waist and thighs looked.

That felt like forbidden information.

“…please tell me her suite is close.” Triana whispered, her accent much more apparent due to the alcohol in her system.

Cassiopeia gathered her wits about her enough to point to a door far to her left. 

Struck by a swift chill of self-consciousness, she subtly checked with her hand that her helmet was still firmly in place. There was endless comfort in the realization it was on, otherwise she was certain she'd be having a panic attack. 

It took her several more seconds to slither up to the slow-moving pair and take most of her sister’s weight, until the redhead could be safely dumped into her own bed.

Triana pressed a hand to the side of her head as soon as Katarina’s door closed once more. Cassiopeia reached forward as if to steady her, but remembered her claws and immediately withdrew her hand back to her side.

“What did you even drink?” she asked. A faint scent of absinthe reached her nostrils, along with another substance she couldn’t place. It smelled a bit too heavy for the human population of the Institute.

“I don’t know, but whatever it was… –never again.” Triana slurred. Took a few steps forward that seemed mostly steady.

Cassiopeia paused before her open door. Chartreuse eyes worried over the summoner, who halted and turned towards her, probably to say goodnight. The motion, however, stressed Triana’s tumulus control to its limits –and with a sharp wince, she staggered forward.

Cassiopeia reacted without thinking; braced her hands on lean shoulders and turned Triana slightly, so her forehead landed on her shoulder rather than the doorframe. An aroma of lilies and exotic oils underneath alcohol invaded her lungs on the next inhale;

And she froze on the spot.

The noblewoman became hyperaware of too many things at once; the inviting warmth of Triana’s skin over her cool flesh, silken strands of wheet-colored hair touching her cheek, the gentle pressure of her hand at her waist. The flutter of long eyelashes at the crook of her neck like a lover's caress. 

Her hot breath across her collarbone.

A faint, liquid tingle worked its way down the heiress’ tense stomach.

Cassiopeia swallowed. She made to guide the Shuriman back without outright shoving her and dashing into the safety of her suite –alarm bells were going off in her chest— but Triana, overcome by another hangover flare, _groaned_ into her neck.

Cassiopeia’s tail nearly gave right there.

The tickling warmth erupted into a pulse of heat she didn’t even think herself capable of feeling after her transformation, leading down, _down_.

The Du Couteau pulled back like she’d been burned, lips parted in a shuddering breath. The vacuum of space she left would have made Triana crash if she didn’t grab her forearm and lead her inside, to the nearest couch, all while keeping physical contact to a minimum. 

With unsteady hands, she grabbed a glass and filled it with water from the fridge. Cassiopeia tried to ignore the way her heart pounded against her ribcage as she slithered back to the blonde.

“Drink this.” her voice sounded harsher –and hoarser— than she remembered it being.

Triana opened one hazel eye, the other hidden by her hand. “Av’esh.” _Thank you_ , she said in Shuriman. As if everything else wasn’t too hot and too hard for Cassiopeia to handle already.

The noblewoman looked at everywhere but her water-glistening lips, uncomfortable in more ways than one. Nobody except Katarina and Talon, who were family, had ever stepped into her room and although chances were Triana would not remember it come morning, she still got to see more than Cassiopeia was willing to show. She wasn’t in control of the situation, of what she was _feeling_.

It made her vulnerable –it was intimate—

And it was a small relief when Triana shook herself out of the drunken haze and rose. “I’m… sorry for waking you. And keeping you.”

“Are you certain you can walk to your dorm by yourself?” Cassiopeia asked.

“Yeah, I got this.” the blonde assured. “I’m a little better now. Thanks again.” A small, beautiful smile underlined her words. “See you tomorrow.”

Cassiopeia watched her leave, to make sure she wasn’t going to freefall down any set of stairs. When Triana was out of sight, she closed her door and leaned her back against it. Took a breath deeper than necessary.

 _Nothing happened._ She lied to herself. Triana was her summoner. That was all she’d ever be. The queen among her chess pieces, yet, at the end of the day, a pawn for a cause nonetheless. _Just forget about it._

Cassiopeia slipped into her bed and vanquished all thoughts of blonde hair and hazel eyes and toned shoulders from her mind.

_Nothing happened._

_Nothing_ can _happen._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo our babies get a lot of interaction this chapter ;). Cassiopeia was living in beautiful denial until she gets the hot blonde in her arms --so now good luck in being professional, because she's going to need it. 
> 
> On a side note, it was Katarina's dare to order a drink that was made for the inhuman population of the Institute and handle it. Triana went along with it because the two of them together are that one comment about 'the last two braincells remaining' and voila. It ended with the summoner sort-of feeling her sister up, but shh, what she doesn't know can't hurt her.


	8. Chapter 8

**[Cassiopeia]**

****

_The masquerade ball was brimming with people._

_Counts and countesses from every corner of the kingdom, generals and lords past every intricate mask. Behind their fake visages lay secrets and plots waiting to be uncovered, strings begging to be pulled. Cassiopeia, of course, stood in the midst of it all, at the heart of the spotlight. There was a reason she was called the crown jewel of Noxus._

_Everyone contested for her attention. Some openly,_ _bearing gifts and offering drinks in fancy flute glasses,_ _practically tripping over their own feet for a far-fetched shot at capturing her interest. Others, through subtler means. It was an unofficial competition –and there would only be one winner._

_Eyes greener than the most vibrant garnet subtly scanned the crowd for an intriguing specimen to pass some time with. Status alone would not suffice. She wanted someone truly worthwhile to entertain her._

_As if on que, her gaze spotted exactly what she had been looking for. A stunning painting of a woman on the opposite side of the dancing pairs, observing their gliding movements from afar, with casual disinterest. Their eyes met across the dance floor, chartreuse to hazel. Cassiopeia found herself caught in the black of her suit against her tanned skin, the stark contrast it made with her wild blonde hair. In her gaze behind her gold Shuriman half-mask, somehow both hot and cold at the same time._

_Calculated steps, gradually taken over the course of several minutes, carried her over to the mystery woman. Up close, she looked familiar. Cassiopeia didn’t bother trying to recall where they might have met, before. She was much more interested in asking for a dance._

_The invitation was wordless. The heiress simply offered a charming smile. The woman offered her arm in exchange. The two made their way to the dance floor, where they assumed their positions and easily fell into the rhythm of the slow music._

_Step after fluid step, they drifted closer. The proffessional air gave way to something more ardent as the exotic blonde’s hands slipped a hint further down Cassiopeia’s waist, fingers lingering over her skin where her dress was open. Her touch was so_ warm, _like being licked by fire. A small thrill ran down the noblewoman’s spine._

_Not one to be outmaneuvered, she lightly dug her manicured nails into her partner’s lean shoulders. Hazel darkened; gave way to abyss-deep black. Cassiopeia inwardly smirked as she leaned in, slow, enough so that her cheek brushed the woman’s uncovered one, so her full lips hovered by the delicate shell of her ear. Gods, she smelled as good as she looked. She lingered there for a few solid heartbeats, savoring the warmth building at her gut, at places far lower._

_It was rare that someone had such an effect on her. Cassiopeia was curious to find out what other reactions the dark-clad beauty could coax out of her._

_“Shall we go somewhere more private?” she asked._

_Her mystery woman nodded._

_Cassiopeia wasted no time in taking her hand, leading her up the stairs, to the rooms above the main hall. It was a layout she could navigate with her eyes closed; soon they were at the door to the noblewoman’s own room, which she pushed open without hesitation._

_Something felt a little… off, about the space. Little things out of place –a sickening feeling creeping up her stomach. A faint, muddled memory of a humanoid monster crying on her bed._

_...But that couldn’t be, could it?_

_The feeling of soft lips on her exposed shoulder brought a halt to Cassiopeia’s thinking. Gently, carefully, the hot tip of a tongue slid over her pulse, followed the path of a vein up to the vulnerable flesh underneath her ear. Her neck rolled back at the sensation._

_When the ache between her legs grew too insistent, she turned in her mysterious beauty’s arms, pulling her in for a passionate kiss. Ruby lips glided over balmy pink, sucked the traces of alcohol off her tongue._

_One sharp movement; and Cassiopeia’s waist pressed against her desk –and when had it been moved there?— moments before she was effortlessly lifted onto it. Hazel eyes stared down at her as warm fingers traced a maddening trail up her inner thigh, hiking her dress up as they went. The sheer thirst in that intense gaze wasn’t painted over her face, flawless as her mask, or her precise movements –and that composure only made Cassiopeia drip further._

_A finger hooked at the edge of her soaked, lacy underwear._

_Then the familiar stranger was leaning in to kiss her neck, pushing inside her at the same time. The intrusion was so intense, so_ good _, Cassiopeia threw her head back, hips canting down, deeper into her touch._

_She could feel herself getting too close too fast, a thin line of desire running down her thigh;_

_“Yes,_ Triana _, there…!” She dug her nails into the woman’s back, who lifted her head to look into her eyes._

_Hazel so sharp started to grow unfocused._

_The image of her started to blur, fade, along with Cassiopeia’s surroundings. She fought against the loss, drawing the woman to her, wanting her to finish–_

_Oh no, Oh no..._

Cassiopeia‘s eyes snapped open in her room.

Morning light was hesitantly peeking through the lines where the heavy curtains at her windows didn‘t connect. Her tail was coiled tightly under the covers, a part of it towards the end aching uncomfortably, her stomach in _knots_.

Cassiopeia brought her forearm over her eyes, half to shield them from the light and half wishing she could erase the vivid, sinful images burned behind them. She’d been wishing for a dream, a break from her constant nightmares, but now she almost preferred them. They were safer than… this.

A slow, unsteady breath wisped past her lips. “Oh, _no_ …”

Standing on two legs should have been her first clue.

...

The sun’s warmth was a pleasant tickle across her back and scales as Cassiopeia made her way to the intermediate arenas through the long, scenic route. It had many perks; fewer people, less noise. Endless rows of flowers. Their aroma wafted around her, natural and calming, a pleasant change from the congregation of sythesized scents her senstitive senses were usually blasted with.

It was early enough that not many summoners lingered around the arena, some beside their champions, others waiting for them. Triana was sitting on a ledge, shoulders uncharacteristically slumped and head angled down. Cassiopeia didn’t need to have insane observation skills or inhuman senses to tell she had a terrible hangover.

“You’re alive. That’s something.” she commented.

“I don’t feel very alive.” Triana mumbled, accent prominent, one hand reaching up to her temple. Cassiopeia’s eye was drawn by the movement to her slender digits, then her hair, shining under the sun like strands of silk, then to the attractive line of her jaw.

It was going to be a difficult morning.

Hazel eyes hesitantly peered up at her. The noblewoman fought any dream version of them off her mind. “…I didn’t say anything weird last night, did I?”

Cassiopeia _really_ didn’t want to be reminded of anything concerning the previous night. “No.”

“Did I _do_ anything weird?” Triana seemed almost afraid to ask.

“Other than almost falling flat on your face at my door, no.” she said, taking great care in keeping her voice and gaze even.

A relieved breath escaped the Shuriman. She stood, an action that brought her closer than the noblewoman intended to keep her, dusting off her robes— and Cassiopeia’s tail coiled around itself. The heiress busied her mind with random things –the distant chirping of birds, the champions approaching their partners for the match. But her body was always aware of every subtle shift in Triana’s stance beside her, every warm current it carried, graced by her perfume. 

Underneath the logical tension, though, Cassiopeia realized there lingered another; an agitation, a nagging feeling in her gut like a muted warning bell. Sharp eyes scanned her surroundings, yet there was nothing that could even remotely harm them there.

Until. 

A loud shriek, between an eagle’s cry and a dragon’s roar, cut through her eardrums. For anyone else present it may have been a faraway terror, but for her it was like a gunshot from point-blank range.

Cassiopeia flinched –claws flexed violently, pupils a thin line in her eyes as they zeroed in on the source of the screech. The beat of her heart doubled in her chest, every muscle locked _tight_ —

“Hey.” Triana’s voice gently eased through the alarm, her hot fingers wrapping around Cassiopeia’s bicep. It shouldn’t help calm her, but somehow it did. It was only then that she noticed how dangerously close they were. Constricted green orbs looked down.

In her instinctive reaction, her hand had wrapped around the blonde’s elbow in a vice hold. It by was some miracle of the gods that the noble hadn’t cut her with her claws, that she hadn’t crushed her bones.

That she hadn’t _killed_ her. 

Cassiopeia’s jaw worked. Long digits shook as they loosened their hold. “I—”

“It’s alright.” Triana reassured.

The Serpent’s Embrace was aware heads were turned around them. Some focused on them, most exchanging worried whispers about the noise.

“Everybody calm down!” A member of the Institute’s staff came rushing out of the arena. “No need to worry –the Archmage Council and the High Summoner are simply re-binding Rek’Sai into the League. This arena is closest to the Binding Tower, so you may hear this sound several times until the procedure is complete.” the man said politely. “The Institute thanks you for your understanding and apologizes for the distraction.”

“Re-binding? What’s going on?” a summoner asked.

“The beast’s behaviour grew more erratic since the beginning of the season. Stronger wards were necessary to ensure a smoother experience for summoners–as well as their safety.” he spoke. “It shouldn’t take more than a day.”

The explanation seemed to set the troubled spirits at ease –all except Cassiopeia’s.

Her eyes once again fell over her summoner. Triana may have played it off coolly, but the noblewoman was not convinced an ugly bruise wasn’t already forming under her robes. The rest of their team began to head into the building. The Shuriman made to follow them, but Cassiopeia spoke up, first.

“…Did I hurt you?”

“No, I’m fine—” she said, but the countess brushed off the words with an annoyed expression.

“Don’t lie to me.” her tone was fast, clipped.

“Cassiopeia.” Triana’s voice was far calmer than she _should_ be. “My arm is fine. And because I know you believe things only when you see them, you can see after the game.”

Cassiopeia nodded.

Nothing further was spoken between them as they headed inside.

…

Victory became habit with Triana.

Not something to pursue relentlessly –just something that would come naturally, like the rain would come with thunderclouds. She was advancing through the ranks without pause. The deadline for the match against Demacia no longer loomed like an impending doom over Cassiopeia’s head.

The arena gradually emptied. First the champions, then the summoners took their leave. Meanwhile, the Du Couteau had strategically placed her body so Triana’s exit was blocked. The summoner had no choice but to wait.

“You saw me at the match –all is perfectly well.” she lied. Was quite good at it, too.

Yes, Cassiopeia saw her at the match. She saw her favor her right arm more than once as she weaved spells, in times she thought the champion’s attention was turned elsewhere. Too bad for her, the heiress could take multitasking to an unprecedented level.

Cassiopeia shook her head and disappeared into a side room usually reserved for medics. She didn’t have to search long to find a shelf containing healing potions and a drawer full of gauzes, neatly arranged in rolls. A member of the staff looked like he was about to speak up about unauthorized use of medicine –but a warning glare from her had him gulping and turning a blind eye to the whole thing. His life depended on it.

The noblewoman approached Triana back at the empty hallway. The blonde was looking outside as though she was debating making a run for it.

“Take off your robes.” Cassiopeia said, no-nonsense. 

Triana leaned back against the wall, offering the pretty smile she always used as an escape tool. “Maybe I’m self-conscious.”

Cassiopeia promptly ignored the traitorous little warmth building in the pit of her stomach. “I won’t say it again.” She leveled her with a narrowed gaze.

The Shuriman let out a sigh and unzipped the heavy garment. She carefully shrugged it over her shoulders, lean muscles flexing with the motions, her tight t-shirt underneath doing nothing to hide them. As soon as her injured arm was free of the black sleeve, however, Cassiopeia’s eye fell on a less attractive sight. Deep blue colored the skin of her elbow, an ugly mark in the shape of her claws.

The noblewoman carefully approached, turning the summoner’s arm to examine it. “You haven’t fractured anything.” The observation escaped her almost in a breath of relief.

Triana didn’t flinch when the healing potion dripped over the bruises. Cassiopeia worked wordlessly to secure the bandage around her arm, keeping the remains of the medicine against the wounded area. “You seem experienced with this.” the blonde commented, an impressed smile playing at the edge of her lip.

“I used to patch Katarina up all the time after missions.” the noble replied. “The bruising will be gone by tonight.”

 _I didn’t mean to hurt you,_ was at the tip of her tongue. The words were swallowed down.

She needed some fresh air. 

Triana pulled the robes back on and followed her outside. They walked in silence the first few paces across the yard. 

The glorious Binding Tower then came into full view.

The noblewoman was prepared, that time, for the low growls that reverberated across the ground from it. They made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end, but at least she knew the situation within was contained, that danger was only in her mind. Still, she picked up the pace, wanting to pass the area as fast as possible. 

Triana’s gaze darkened as she turned, more than once, towards the tall construct.

“And to think this much noise slips through the muting wards.” Cassiopeia stated, deeply unsettled. Every inch of her was screaming for a fight or flight because of it.

Suddenly— the sounds of the monster ceased. Entirely, completely, like it had dropped dead.

Triana’s steps halted.

And then…

An ear-splitting screech echoed across the whole Institute.

Glass _shattered_ at the Binding Tower and Cassiopeia cried out as she brought her hands over her assaulted ears. The summoners and champions around froze, petrified. 

Lime eyes widened as rocks, grass and soil flew everywhere, foretelling destruction… headed straight towards them. The burrowed horror of the sands had targeted something –and even the all-powerful mages rushing out of the tower after it held few chances of keeping it back in time.

Instinctively, Cassiopeia pushed Triana behind her. Her skin had been impenetrable by everything until that point, but a Void creature’s claws would really put that to the test. If she died right there, though, she didn’t consider it a terrible fate.

In a purple, volcanic burst of the ground, the Void Burrower leapt up, forelimb poised to _strike_ —

“Nyel’Sai, _yeté_!” Triana shouted, a command so unquestionable it would have made most people freeze on the spot. The monster of the sands, though, the death from below, that wasn’t something that would simply cease at the sound of an order.

And yet.

It _did_.

Cassiopeia was so tense she could have passed as a statue as she kept her forearm raised for the attack… which never came. Rek’Sai was standing there with its arm casting a massive shadow over them, though otherwise unmoving. Gradually, the beast lowered its giant limb. It dropped to a low crouch with the same cautious movements… growled, low yet somehow unthreatening.

The noblewoman’s heart was pounding nearly out of her chest. Her arm shook as she lowered it, daring not draw in a single breath. Triana’s hand closed around her wrist, gently pulling her back. Cassiopeia watched, speechless, as she carefully approached the monstrosity.

The archmages caught up to the scene, causing Rek’Sai to scratch the earth with her claws, flexing the spikes at her spine and tail in warning. Triana raised a hand, signalled for them to stop and remain still.

If Cassiopeia hadn’t been certain of it before, she was entirely positive then the blonde was _insane_. Nobody in their right mind would approach that thing.

Triana said something in Shuriman she didn’t catch over the sound of her own hammering heartbeat. Rek’Sai’s blades eased once more, her massive head dropping down… down.

Touching Triana’s outstretched fingertips.

It— _purred_.

Cassiopeia didn’t know what she was witnessing. The mages around looked between themselves. Then the High Summoner stepped past them, walking towards the rasping terror without fear.

“You’re binding her wrong. With far too many people.” Triana said to him, as casual as talking to a fellow Platinum. “She can sense their fear, their desperation to control her. It only agitates her.”

“Come with me. Show me.” High Summoner Aquillas motioned kindly.

Triana cast Cassiopeia a parting gaze.

In that moment, it almost felt like the noblewoman was looking at someone else.

**[Triana]**

They always made the same mistake. People. They always tried to subjugate the things they feared; couldn’t fathom, in their narrow minds, that some forces were not _meant_ to be tamed.

Not much had changed in two thousand years.

_“That— do not tell me that is what I think it is.” her mother’s voice echoed in the silent chamber of the Sun Temple’s outer sanctum._

_A ten-_ _year-old Triana looked up at her, cradling the bleeding creature closer in her lap. “Mommm…” she drew out the word to win the woman over. “I found her at the desert. Look, I couldn’t leave her like this.”_

_The baby Xer’Sai was barely big enough to fit into the circle of her arms, too small for its kind, lacking the scales they were known to have since birth. It was a runt of the litter –and they just abandoned her behind. Such was the way of the world, of course. The weak were left at the back to bleed, while the strong walked forward._

_But that didn’t mean she agreed with that. She would change things one day, from the top down._

_“Honey, that is not a pet.” the woman huffed._

_“No. I don’t want to own her. I want to_ save _her.” she replied. “Besides.” A cheeky grin graced her lips. “I know you can see the future. Don’t tell me she doesn’t grow to like me.”_

_“The Farsight doesn’t work like that.” the High Priestess crossed her arms._

_Triana crossed hers back. “Doesn’t it?” The creature growled weakly. Two sets of kind eyes peered down at it. “Come on, mom, please. Help me heal her.”_

_The woman gave in with a pained expression. She crouched next to them, shaking her head at her antics as she examined the creature. “You will save her, but all is not so simple. You do not wish to own her, yet in a way you always will. She will_ hurt _for you.”_

_It was always intimidating when her mother talked like that. When she got that focused look in her eye, that deadly-serious expression on her gorgeous face, like she could see too much, cursed with knowing too much._

_Triana gulped. Decided to save the Xer’Sai regardless._

_“Now.” The Priestess said after she’d bandaged the beast. Her warm hand came to clasp her daughter’s, placing it over the creature’s head. It purred gently. “Give her a name. All things should have a name.”_

_Triana had thought about it long and hard. She remembered her mother’s bedtime stories, her favorite among them, that of the Nightingale's magical, haunting midnight song. No such birds existed in the sands… but. She smirked down at the baby Xer’Sai._

_“_ Nyel’Sai _” she said._

_The Nightingale of the Deserts._

_Her mother smiled proudly, warm and beautiful as the sunrise. “By the way… this is not a runt of the litter.” Gentle fingers trailed down Triana’s cheek. “She’s a queen… for a queen.”_

Triana’s presence kept Rek’Sai still and compliant.

The archmages tied her to the League without any issues or resistance. The key had always been respecting the power and freedom of the Xer’Sai. She was difficult, impossibly proud. She would only agree to be bound in her own terms and no human trying to force magic upon her could ever hope to succeed.

Once they were left alone, just them and the High Summoner in the Binding Tower, Triana blinked away tears kept too long at bay. Her fingers scratched under Rek’Sai’s massive head. _“You didn’t even fit in my arms when I met you. Now look at you.”_

The beast purred into their bond. Then its delight turned into pain. Triana hadn’t understood back then what her mother meant, that she would hurt for her. But she made Rek’Sai grieve for a portion of eternity. Knowing Triana was alive, but withering away. Knowing she was too close and yet unable to repay the favor in saving her.

 _“Forgive me, Nyel’Sai.”_ she said. _“You will take your place at my side soon enough. But for now, I need you to be a little bit more patient. The time has not yet come to take what is mine.”_

Rek’Sai rasped in understanding.

_“Remember. A queen, for a queen.”_

“I’ve seen so many things over the years, yet still discover I can be amazed. I am speechless.” High Summoner Aquillas spoke. Triana carefully terminated her bond with the Void Burrower, who stood to her full height, observing him. “It seems I owe the bigger lady in the room an apology.” he said, the corner of his blue eyes crinkling. “I understand now why she let herself become bound to the League. And why your coming here had her so erratic.”

“Do you?” The blonde asked, eyes narrowing ominously. _He couldn’t have figured it out, right?_

“A lot of things have certainly clicked into place.”

“Such as?”

“Who you are.” Aquillas said simply. Triana immediately reached for the knife at the back of her belt. Fingertips grazed the hilt. “I thought it was strange, your aura, when I first evaluated you to become a summoner. There was an… ancient quality to it.”

The blade slipped into her hand. “You have no idea who I am, to say that so casually.” A threatening step was taken his way. She couldn’t allow _anyone_ to compromise her guise—

“And it doesn’t matter, does it?” he asked, surprising her. “The Institute cares not about who you were before you joined. I care not about what your name used to be, or what titles you held or didn’t hold.” he spoke, the epitome of calm. “The past does not define you here. This is a chance for a new beginning; a fresh start in your life. You can be whoever you choose to be.”

Triana’s sharpness melted away like rocks gradually smoothed over by saltwater. She shouldn’t trust anybody, but her instinct told her the honorable man before her was no threat to her plans.

It was what he said next that cracked something long vulnerable within her:

“Triana, to me, you summoners are all my children. It hurts to see you nurture such rage. Such… pain.”

Tan fists clenched. A blonde head lowered, in shame or defeat or both.

To think her first thought was to assassinate the man fighting for a better future for the world, just so she could keep her lie up for a while longer… she felt far more corrupt than she’d given herself credit for.

Her blade was sheathed as subtly as it had been drawn.

“I don’t do well with father figures.” she spoke, cutting. Even steps led her towards the exit of the tower. “Take care of Rek’Sai for me.”

The Void Burrower hissed, sensing her inner turmoil.

After all, she knew well of the scars deep beneath Triana’s skin. The ones that shaped her, rendered her almost a completely different person from the warm-hearted kid who found her half-dead, carried her in her arms through the desert.

They both felt it; that girl was burned away. By fire, by acid. By misplaced trust.

Some wounds didn’t heal with the passage of time.

They only festered. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... yeah. Attraction is so much easier to ignore when you're not having wet dreams about them. Poor Cass. She's summoning 200% of her class and elegance to pull off her usual 'resting bitch mode' with Triana, when all her mind assaults her with is how good she smells and looks. At least she's progressed to the point she no longer wants to smash her against a wall -or at least she does, except in a different way ;) 
> 
> On a side note... why am I weak for a void apex freaking predator purring like an oversized housecat (and remembering her savior's voice across centuries)? Nobody knows. 
> 
> Thank you for all your support! It keeps me going <3


	9. Chapter 9

**[Katarina]**

Katarina had a strange relationship with fame.

She was raised to believe it was a good thing. The world certainly viewed it as such. People were hungry for it, would kill and claw their way to its ephemeral embrace. Wars were fought daily to attain it; some seen, others not.

For her, it had never been something she strived to achieve. Fame came naturally, like blinking, like breathing. First with her last name, then with her blessedly good looks, lastly with her talent. The order was supposed to be reversed, but Katarina had always known the game called life was rigged in the favor of those born under privilege.

In Noxus, fame, like everything else, was directly tied to _power_.

She could see why... and yet still failed to understand the appeal. It _took_ much more than it gave.

Ever since she was little, eyes had always been trained on her. Dark, gleaming and malicious, each with their own agendas for approaching her. Her social circle had been pre-determined and any deviation would risk soiling their family name. Katarina had lost friendships before they even had the chance to form because of it. She’d say she lost her privacy, but she never had such a thing in the first place.

She wasn’t even allowed to cry at her mother’s funeral. As her father had scolded, people were _watching_.

People were _always_ fucking watching.

It only got worse, growing up. Wherever she went, there was a target at her back, whether that was a stalker, an enemy agent tailing her moves, cameras, reporters. She had to pretend, every single moment of every godsdamned day, that she was doing great, that her life was _perfect_ –even as it was falling apart. The second her shoulders slumped, the Crimson Elite’s nobles would be on her like vultures smelling fresh meat.

So Katarina kept up the ‘Noxian sensation’ image they so desperately wanted to see. She lied to the world and herself, daily, that she enjoyed it.

There was nothing to enjoy. From the outside looking in, perhaps having people throw themselves at her feet was delightful. Perhaps picking any woman that even remotely tickled her fancy and knowing she wouldn’t say no to a night of fun with her was a blessing. To her, it had been a failed way to cope, unfulfilling and entirely shallow.

Ashe changed things for her. She was just so very _different_ from everyone else. She showed Katarina that there could be meaning to a relationship, that someone could see her scars and want to aid in healing them rather than use them to destroy her.

Katarina was hers, without a doubt. Completely.

But if she wasn’t, she would _actually_ pursue Triana. The assassin wouldn’t ever admit it out loud, but she was having entirely too much fun with their whole ‘fake-dating’ thing. Like Ashe, the summoner had that special spark separating her from the rest. She wasn’t sucking up to her, she wasn’t enamored by her money or her influence. If anything, Triana looked like she couldn’t give less fucks about any of those things.

She looked at her like she was just another person.

Like her last name didn’t matter.

“ _No_!” the Shuriman pulled Katarina away from the club’s counter as though it was a life or death situation. She was surprisingly strong. “Like _hell_ I’m letting you almost kill us like last time!” she shouted over the music, by the assassin’s ear.

Katarina laughed. “I don’t remember _anything_ from the other night.” But, yes, maybe getting something from the non-human catalogue, despite the warnings, wasn’t really the way to go.

“Yeah, exactly!” Triana grimaced. She turned to the barwoman, who had been eyeing them both like pieces of candy since they arrived –the assassin tried to recall if she’d taken her to bed in the past or not– and ordered for both of them.

An oval glass was given to the redhead. She eyed the fizzy, clear liquid inside like it had offended her. “…did you get me a fucking lemonade.”

“It’s a Shuriman special –just take it and like it, alright?” Katarina shook her head. Her hand lightly pressed to Triana’s back, guiding her to a quieter corner of the massive counter. Summoners all around immediately parted for them.

One small sip of the drink was carefully taken. Lime and tequila, along with a fruity substance she couldn’t immediately place, graced her tongue. It wasn’t half bad. Triana gave her a side-eye along with a knowing expression, smirk in place, looking like a very –gorgeous— self-satisfied cat.

“Shut up, it’s barely a step away from sucking.” Katarina lied. Then a thought occurred to her, about the night she got positively smashed from that nuke of a green absinthe-like cocktail. Her high spirits soured. She hesitated to voice her concern. “…did I do anything weird while I was drunk?”

“Everything you do is weird.” Triana smiled.

Katarina took a gulp of her beverage. “First of all, fuck you. Secondly …weirder.”

“No, you didn’t hit on me, if that’s what you’re wondering.” Thank the gods Triana caught on so quickly. “No more than you did everything else around you.” The blonde’s lip quirked. “I’m pretty sure the Noxian lobby is deeply flattered by your infatuation.”

The assassin raised a palm over her face. “And how were you holding up so well?”

“I can hold my liquor. And I didn’t gulp down that green stuff like you. I took a sip and still felt like I was dying the next day.” Triana explained. Her expression broke into one of mild embarrassment. “Plus I’m pretty sure Cassiopeia guided me to her room and gave me water and pills for the headache. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have made it to my dorm.”

Green eyes widened a fraction at the sound of that. Katarina slowly turned in her stool, so she was facing Triana directly. _Her room…?_ Cassiopeia did not allow _anybody_ into her chambers. It had taken two years for her to be able to stomach Talon and her inside. “My sister? Are you sure?”

“I’m not sure.” The Shuriman lifted her hands up.

Katarina eased back, filing away the information for later. The two of them fell into light conversation after that, about champions neither of them could stand. It wasn’t surprising they agreed on nearly everything, like the fact Yasuo was a piece of shit, or that Zoe and Yuumi had to be permanently put down for the good of humanity. Or that Syndra, despite how annoying it was to lane against her, was a solid _ten_.

“Absolutely.” Triana nodded.

“But she’s _Ionian_.” Katarina grimaced. “A Noxian shouldn’t think of her as hot.”

“Floating above Ionia –doesn’t count.”

“…You’re a genius.” They clanked their glasses together.

Meanwhile, people were looking at them, whispering, gossiping. That was the whole point, though the assassin had forgotten, for a while. Katarina moved closer than strictly professional to make it believable, surprised to realize there was nothing awkward about it. There was an unspoken, platonic understanding between them that the redhead only ever had with one other person in her life…

Who had been as close to a best friend as one in their line of business could have…

Who _left_.

_Fucking Riven._

“Speaking of white hair –Ashe.” Triana commented. “She doesn’t have the killer vibe I tend to like but.”

Katarina nearly chocked on water.

Words felt like a difficult concept all of a sudden. “…yeah, Ashe is… she’s okay.” _And by that I mean absolutely fucking perfect –time to change the subject._ “So! Have you heard of the pool party tomorrow night?”

“Only every second of my day. My dormmates won’t shut up about it.” Triana rolled her pretty eyes.

It was an event organized solely for summoners’ and champions’ entertainment and no cameras would be allowed in. But the shenanigans of the night would no doubt find their way into the spotlight anyway. Since every champion could bring only one summoner as their escort, it was a big opportunity to solidify one’s position as their duo’s main partner.

“Will you come with me?” Katarina asked easily. She would _love_ to see the look on a certain queen’s face when she showed up with the world’s hottest blonde on her arm.

“Actually…” Triana began, causing a frown to settle over the assassin’s features. “I was thinking of going with your sister.”

Katarina opened her mouth. Closed it.

 _…yeah, you’re in for a disappointment._ was her first thought. Still, she appreciated the Shuriman’s intentions. It wasn’t often people had the balls to speak to her so directly, to _reject_ her, much less approach her sister for anything. Cassiopeia told her to be weary around Triana, that she was a mystery to her and that was dangerous by default, but, hidden motives or not, she didn’t really have anything to gain from this.

Katarina didn’t trust her –everyone had their own goals, after all— but she didn’t have to, in order to like her. To respect her.

“Look. Cassiopeia doesn’t usually attend these things.” she stated.

“That’s okay.” Triana shrugged.

The assassin studied her profile carefully. She mulled the thought over in her head… “Tell you what.” she spoke. “If you manage to get her to go to the pool party with you, I will give you anything you want.” Katarina said. Said it with such certainty… because the feat was impossible. “Within reason.” was added quickly.

Triana’s eye gleamed with mischief. “You have to treat me to the _best_ food in the Institute –and you can’t steal any of it— all while saying the nicest things about Teemo and Yuumi. Like a total love confession.”

Katarina broke into a fit of laughter. In the back of her mind though, she was aware Triana could have asked for money. For a public statement that could skyrocket her fame. For a ton of things that she could do for her, because she was Katarina fucking Du Couteau. _Instead… you ask for this._

The assassin took her hand. Smiled. “Deal.”

It wasn’t going to happen, anyway.

...

Hope was an ingedient to a surefire recipe for pain, her father had taught her. As was trust. As was love. Assassins didn’t hope, they merely expected. Anticipated.

She hated to admit in a sense he’d been right.

Hope hurt like a motherfucker. Katarina had withstood wounds to the chest, to arteries, to her freaking eye. But somehow all that paled in comparison to sitting outside Cassiopeia’s permanently locked door after her transformation, _hoping_. For what, she had no idea herself. It was naive to think things would ever go back to how they used to be, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to accept their current state, either.

Her sister’s initial outbursts had been bad. Dangerous. Doctors had died from them, half the house staff injured in some way or another. Their father had been forced to fire the other half. When they quieted down to near nothingness, to a silent bedchamber and barely audible sobs within it, Katarina had wanted to lie to herself that it would get better with time.

It only got worse.

Cassiopeia didn’t leave her room. Didn’t eat. The assassin was certain she didn’t sleep, either. She’d long shattered all mirrors surrounding her and remained there with the broken pieces, with the blinds always closed, in the _dark_. Katarina could remember days turning to nights, sitting there, leaning outside her sister‘s door. She’d asked her to come out in every way she could think of. In her desperation, she’d even _begged_.

The answer was always the same.

_“Go away.”_

It had been an endless cycle of crushed hope and denial.

Meanwhile, their father didn’t show a single crack in his stony visage. His orders never ceased and his expectations never fell any lighter on her shoulders. Although she wasn’t in any mental state for them, Katarina couldn’t fail her missions. Her past mistakes left no room for another; Talon was always there in her meetings with Marcus, a not-so-subtle reminder that she was replaceable.

Day by day, something gave way to hate.

Katarina still couldn’t tell if it was love or trust or hope. Or all three breaking at once.

It was easy to discard everything under the influence of alcohol. Sober, it took _so_ much effort to lie to herself that she’d given up on those things. And she had never quite been the good liar of the family.

Through Ashe, she found a part of her she thought lost in all the chaos of her life. Rather, a part she’d discarded in all the hardships, the loss and misfortune. Yet she couldn’t claim she was whole, not by a long shot. Some pieces couldn’t be glued together yet, not when they had Cassiopeia’s name written all over them and she was...

Lost.

The notion she could be found stung too much to hold onto...

Until, that evening, Katarina and Talon were summoned to her room.

Instead of the cold reception they usually received, there was only a quick: “Hurry up, now, I don’t have all night.”

The two assassins looked at each other. Then the older sister peeked further ahead. The sight was enough to drive a confused grimace across her expression, because _what the actual fuck?_

Cassiopeia was standing before her bed, sizing up the three outfits laid out on the mattress like it was an earth-shattering decision she was about to make. Katarina tried _very_ hard –and failed— _not_ to be reminded of the past as she turned to them and asked:

“Okay, which one?”

Talon raised his eyebrows. “Uh… the purple one…?”

“Red is sexier.” Katarina commented quickly. The purple was classy and all, but the red had an open back. And it was red.

“I agree.” Cassiopeia’s lip curved into a small smile as she picked the top up.

“I thought you didn’t trust Katarina’s judgement.” their step-brother huffed.

“Normally, I don’t. In everything except women.” the youngest Du Couteau replied. “I mean, just look at who she’s dating. Then look at who you’re dating.” The redhead smirked at that, chest puffed out with pride.

“I’m not dating anyone.” Talon said.

“My point exactly. Now turn around.” Cassiopeia motioned with a finger. Talon very grumpily complied and kept his eyes straight ahead while she changed.

Katarina still couldn’t read the situation. “Wait… Is this the ‘urgent matter’ that you called us here for?” she asked, tone laced with disbelief.

“Yes.” Cassiopeia answered like it was the most natural thing in the universe.

Katarina felt both Talon’s and her jaw hit the floor simultaneously. She stood there with all the brain processing power of a potato, wondering: _What in the world am I witnessing?_

“Where are you going?” she asked.

“Out.” Cassiopeia said.

“Out” Katarina repeated numbly.

“Yes, _out_. At the pool party –which you two should already be dressing up for– with Triana.”

A zap of pure shock ran through the redhead’s body. She stood there with her lips parted yet no breath daring to slip past them, merely watching. Cassiopeia slithered over to her covered vanity mirror, sprayed on some perfume, then put on a couple of fancy bracelets the assassin had absolutely no clue how she managed to clasp using only one hand. Talon looked her up and down, probably wondering the same thing.

The woman halted only upon touching her headpiece.

Hesitated.

She cast her siblings a subtle look over her shoulder, disappeared to a side room which, knowing her, was probably a massive wardrobe and came out sporting a different one, black, equally intricate, yet slightly more open.

Jade eyes widened. The lower end of Cassiopeia’s stylish bun showed, her neck for once entirely uncovered. Two wispy locks of curly brown hair framed the sides of her pretty face, their presence faint, almost ghostly, but _there_.

Katarina bit her tongue not to make a comment when her sister came to stand directly in front of her, narrowing her garnet eyes in the way she always did before she asked for something.

“Give me your jacket.” It was more of a demand than a request.

The redhead couldn’t even pretend to be difficult about it. Wordlessly, her leather jacket was shrugged off her shoulders and presented to Cassiopeia like a worthy sacrifice. “Here you go…?”

It was snatched in a lightning-fast motion. “Huh. I thought this would be more difficult.” Cassiopeia stated. “Are you feeling okay?”

 _Are you?_ Katarina wanted to ask. “Yeah.”

A brief smile was thrown at her. “Well. Talk later.”

The youngest Du Couteau threw a casual wave and she was off.

Talon turned to Katarina, as numb as she felt.

_So Cassiopeia refused to step outside for a second longer than necessary for years, but now she’s going to the pool party. …this isn’t a big deal or anything. Just—just pretend it’s all normal. It will hurt less if this good mood doesn’t last._

Katarina knew she shouldn't. It fucked her over in the past.

She shouldn’t.

But she hoped, anyway.

**[Triana]**

The night sky was an ocean of stars.

A full moon hang low, clear and beautiful, illuminating the world below in pale, silver light. The white crystalline columns and steps leading the way to the massive pools glimmered in response to it. Bioluminescent flowers in tall hedges and young trees closed the space off, creating an alcove that looked far too cosy for its sheer size.

Soft bass beat was emanating from it. 

Champions were arriving every second, arms linked with their partners, smiles light on their faces and fully prepared for a night of fun. Everyone looked happy, relaxed.

But Triana was pacing.

As the minutes ticked by waiting for Cassiopeia, doubts started to poison her mind. If Xerath had been there to see her attend –and who she was attending with— she would feel his disaproving glare on the back of her neck all night. She could feel it even then, without the magus being anywhere close.

_I don’t belong here, with all these people—_

“Good evening.” A familiar voice greeted behind her.

Triana turned –and halted.

Cassiopeia was there, the very icon of Noxian elegance in her flame-red top, cut at the sides and dropping low at the décolletage, made all the more attention-grabbing by the slim, designer leather jacket hugging her shoulders. Her earrings and fancy necklace sparkled under the moonlight, as crimson as her full lips. Two stray, walnut locks of hair fell down to her sharp jawline and the blonde couldn’t say why she just couldn’t get over how _attractive_ that looked.

“Hey.” She pushed a smile to her lips, offering her arm to the noblewoman the way she’d been taught was proper.

Cassiopeia’s hand carefully curled around her elbow. Even through the barrier of clothes, her skin felt cool.

The security guards at the entrance stepped aside to let them through. A few steps in, a waiter came, offering a wide selection of drinks on his tray.

Cassiopeia and Triana reached for champagne glasses at the same time. Lime eyes gleamed with amusement. “A woman of taste.” the noble commented.

“In any and all things.” The blonde replied with confidence she didn’t exactly feel.

The Du Couteau led them past the pools and seats, to a corner that was further from the noise, shaded by weeping trees. Her attention seemed to be elsewhere though.

Triana subtly followed the path of her gaze to the Demacian group toasting to victory, on literally the opposite end of the alcove. The Shuriman only then realized she didn’t just pick the spot for its atmosphere and privacy… but because it also offered an unperturbed view of the individuals she wanted to keep an eye on.

“Are you here for business or pleasure?” she teasingly asked.

“My business _is_ my pleasure.” Cassiopeia replied, lips curling into a liquid smirk behind the rim of her glass. “If the drunk Demacians happen to spill information I can use, I may just accidently overhear it.”

Something in Triana felt challenged to draw _all_ of her attention. The urge was pushed down. “It must be tiring to live like that, though.” she said, instead. “Always on the lookout.”

Chartreuse eyes looked into her own, a flicker of surprise in them. “As part of the Noxian Elite, there is no other way to live.” Triana understood that far better than she could say.

They enjoyed the rest of their drink in sparse conversation, the topics ranging from Noxus’ war against Demacia, to Shuriman history –which the blonde wasn’t surprised Cassiopeia knew so very much about. She wished she could tell her the things she read in books weren’t all true –that there was far too much left undocumented in favor of the Emperors, too many inconsistencies, too many blatant _lies_ — but she kept her mouth shut with another sip of champagne whenever the need to speak up got overpowering. 

It was… endearing, in a way, that Cassiopeia was so deeply fascinated by Shurima and its past wonders. If only she could see the way it used to be, a thriving Empire, spanning as far as the sun’s rays could reach. A palace so grand it could put the Institute’s architecture to shame.

 _You would have fit right in with that court_. she thought. _Maybe then I wouldn’t have minded spending so much time in all their shit._

 _Wait_. Triana bit the corner of her lip, upon realizing the implication of her own musings. … _Fuck_.

At the end of their third glass, it was getting late. They had one of the first matches in the morning and needed to be rested for it. Triana stood. Cast a gaze across the alcove.

Katarina, Twisted Fate and Miss Fortune were locked in a very intense game of beer pong, summoners had occupied one of the pools for water-volleyball. K/DA were lounging at the sunbeds –well, three of them, because Evelynn was busy seducing her pretty, blue-eyed summoner into a molten makeout session. At the Demacian side, Ezreal’s face was smashed on the table, very reminiscent of a fish out of water as Lux tried to wake him from his drunken coma. 

“So… did those guys give you anything to work with, or?” Triana asked, cocking her head towards the scene.

“More or less.” Cassiopeia replied. “They were not my main concern.” Her lips pressed into a thin line. For once, she appeared _troubled._

“…Weren’t you here to keep an eye on the Demacians?”

“I was here to keep an eye on _you_.” That was sharp and to the point like a knife across the carotid artery.

Hazel eyes snapped to lime, lightning-fast. Worries filled Triana’s head, but she urged them to keep quiet. “I’m flattered.” she replied, using her best smile, even though she knew her champion’s words weren’t spoken in any good way.

“You confuse me.” Cassiopeia said, rounding on her like a lion preparing to pounce. “I can’t figure you out –and it’s annoying me.” Triana took a breath to speak, but the noblewoman beat her to it. “Why did you ask me here? –and do not say it’s for the pleasure of my company.”

Triana felt stunned. Under that narrowed gaze, under the question she had been asking herself since the beginning of the night. The question she hadn’t wanted to answer but was then forced to.

At first, she had wanted to talk to her. Just once. Just to know what kind of person it was who unsealed the tomb of Emperors after centuries, who poisoned and sacrificed themselves so she could achieve her goals. Xerath claimed she owed Cassiopeia no gratitude, but Triana didn’t feel the same. But was it just that?

No.

Fate gave her the chance to help her in a time of need and she took it. Taking a liking to her wasn’t part of the plan. Nor being impressed by her, daily, by her knowledge and her genius and the way she held herself, so poised, so _together_ , where others would have long crumbled to dust in her position. Was it admiration?

Maybe.

But that alone didn’t explain why Triana’s mind was haunted by the color of her eyes, the tiny curl of her lip, or the line of her jaw or the way her gorgeous face shifted so subtly across expressions. Had been haunted by those things, since the second she gazed upon her in that tomb.

The wind picked up.

A warm gust passed between them—

And from the weeping tree above their heads, fell tiny beetles that landed all over Cassiopeia’s shoulders. Triana watched their descent almost in slow-motion…

But the woman went rod-straight, statue-still. Cassiopeia didn’t even breathe, merely locked her muscles down like a person trying to bear being electrocuted. The Shuriman realized it was for her own good, because any immediate reaction in such close proximity could mean terrible news for her.

“Take. These things… _off_.” Her jaw worked. She looked about ready to _die_ of disgust.

Triana carefully approached. Flicked the first one off her shoulder. “I got you.” She failed to catch the second as it skittered under the champion’s jacket. _Sheiss!_

Without thinking, the blonde guided the leather past her shoulders, exposing smooth, marble skin in the process. Cassiopeia’s long lashes blinked. She looked away. The blonde was too focused in her task of getting all the insects for the notion to truly settle she was essentially undressing the noble…

But it crashed onto her like a hot ocean current as soon as she pulled back.

Moist, crimson lips caught her attention. Held it captive.

Triana made the mistake of wondering if they tasted as good as they looked.

“That… should be all of them.” she spoke, quiet.

Cassiopeia released the shaking breath she had been holding too long, finally loosening her muscles. The slow drag of the black jacket against her porcelain skin, back into place, lasted far too long from the Shuriman’s perspective. A small fire settled in the pit of her stomach with the fleeting thought she’d liked it off, enjoyed _taking_ it off.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Triana.” Cassiopeia said and turned to go.

The blonde locked her jaw tight.

For the rest of the night, she tried to think about literally anything else. But the scent of azaleas lingered in the air around her. Her mind kept conjuring images of an arched pale neck, parted ruby lips and lidded garnet eyes peering down at her in the dark.

And that…

That complicated things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We all needed some Kat in our lives, so here she is, dominating this chapter. You know who she has a soft spot for when she gives up her jacket without so much as an argument <3
> 
> As for Triana, she's having the classic moment of denial, followed by the 'oh shit, I'm into her' realization. Until that point she was rationalizing wanting to be close to Cassiopeia, in a way finding excuses to tell herself. But now that her eyes are opened to her own actions... our Shuriman beauty has quite a bit to think about.


	10. Chapter 10

**[Cassiopeia]**

_‘Katarina Du Couteau’s new girl in two words? Absolute stunner.’_ Read the headline.

Cassiopeia watched as the comments on the article skyrocketed in mere minutes, with people going crazy over her sister’s newest point of romantic interest, as she knew they would. It was one thing for Katarina to be seen on a date with a summoner once –the world was used to her projected image of ‘take them and drop them’. But Triana had been spotted with her several times until that point and her fans were going wild with theories about their blossoming ‘relationship’.

Which was the whole point. Getting people to talk about Triana, turning the media’s lights on her, all while misdirecting them from her true partner for the upcoming grand game, had been the plan since the beginning. It was a total success.

Cassiopeia told herself she wasn’t having mixed feelings about it.

Yet her gaze lingered a bit too long on the photos of Katarina and Triana together. They were close, in all of them. She knew it was pretend, but it seemed believable even to her own eyes. The best lies, after all, had their roots in truth.

Their chemistry was certainly no sham. Although Cassiopeia had warned Katarina _not_ to grow attached to her –summoners were expendable– the advice, as always, seemed to fly right past her sister’s thick head. She could tell at a single glance the redhead was having fun with Triana. They had similar interests, matched like fire and gasoline, they even liked the same stupid horror movies. If it wasn’t for Ashe, Cassiopeia was convinced Katarina would have made a move on her.

And was that so bad?

In every logical way, she was the better choice. Ashe was a great many things; gorgeous, sincere, kind, patient, the calm to her sister’s storm. But she was also Freljord’s queen and she always would be, lest the Warchiefs under her paint the snow red once more. If their relationship was ever found out, their House was risking more than public ridicule in Noxus. Cassiopeia had no doubts they would be branded as traitors to their kingdom –and executed in the capital’s square.

Well. Talon and Katarina would be. As for her, she wasn’t so sure anything human-made could puncture her skin. She’d tried and nothing had worked. Her curse would be living with the consequences… like it already was.

Still, something didn’t sit right with her in the ideal scenario of her sister and Triana as a couple.

Cassiopeia glanced at the pictures of them underneath the article once more. Katarina was only there as the most popular Du Couteau, but that hadn’t always been the case. And she couldn’t help but think that, in a parallel universe where she hadn’t fucked up her life searching for the unknown…

…She would be the one next to Triana, with her arm around her shoulders.

 _Don’t go there._ Cassiopeia dropped her head to her palm, urging the voices in her head to silence. _Madness lies that way._

The only way she’d found to keep her sanity, after all, to be able to tolerate her cursed existence, was to forget all about who she used to be before the transformation. Every single photograph of her old self had been burned or torn to a hundred shreds with her claws. In her mind, she erased that person as if she never even existed.

_And now…_

What she thought long buried was coming back to haunt her like a distant apparition. The girl who once glowed like the sun in a kingdom of darkness, who was praised as its crown jewel, was looking at her, blurry, through every barrier she raised in her psyche to keep herself safe. They had the same eyes, but that was where their similarities ended.

The ghost was saying something Cassiopeia didn’t want to hear –something dangerously close to: _‘you can be me again’_.

 _I can’t._ Her shoulders shook. _I_ can’t.

_You don’t exist anymore._

…

Cassiopeia waited at the small park just outside one of the arenas.

Katarina and Triana were having the promos of their life inside, already godlike and stepping all over their opponents. Although the noblewoman didn’t have her eyes turned towards the lobby and its big screens broadcasting the match, her senses could pick up the commentators’ voices easily.

Triana would be sporting the pretty diamond brooch on her chest when she spoke to her next. Sadly, Cassiopeia couldn’t be the one to put it on her, but she was keeping an eye on the Shuriman from afar.

In fact, her senses were so focused on what was said about the game, she almost didn’t notice the dark presence approaching from the side. The sound of heels tapping in even, elegant steps eventually drew her attention.

Endless, black-clad legs paved the way to a narrow waist hugged by red silk, to a stylish mini-coat that framed a dark top. A pair of thousand-gold sunglasses hid ruby eyes, matched in shade with the woman’s hair, strands of pure, shiny crimson whose ends tickled the base of her neck. She walked with effortless confidence, the very embodiment of poise.

 _About time._ The Serpent’s Embrace thought. Turned to greet her. “Elise.”

Whatever she did at the Shadow Isles –and Cassiopeia wasn’t sure she wanted to know— the Spider Queen was always _glowing_ when she returned. “So nice to be back, dear—” the other noble halted for a second. A subtle frown creased her brow. “…how long was I gone for?”

“About twenty days.” the Du Couteau replied. “Why?”

“You look different.” was said easily, bluntly.

It was Cassiopeia’s turn to frown. “In what way?”

A tiny smirk. “In a good way.”

“Very specific.” Green eyes rolled, her expression dry.

“Aren’t I, always?” Elise tossed her fringe to the side like staring in a shampoo ad.

Cassiopeia shook her head. Extended her hand, palm-up, between them. “My scroll.” her tone left little room for nonsense, but thankfully Elise wasn’t the type for it, anyway.

Manicured fingers deftly weaved a de-cloaking spell. The same one, probably, that was used to shroud the chitin limbs at the woman’s back so they weren’t visible. Even to Cassiopeia’s eyes, there was only a slight distortion where they should be, like looking through dusted glass. The scroll came out of camouflage, safely tucked between Elise’s side and arm.

“Here you go.” the woman said, offering it without further stalling.

Cassiopeia accepted it as carefully as a grenade whose safety pin was drawn. She quickly undid the seal and checked inside, sharp eyes scanning the ancient ink for the tell-tale signs that it was authentic. 

“Are you seriously doubting I would bring you the real thing?” A crimson eyebrow arched.

“Are you seriously asking me that?” she retorted. Elise only chuckled.

“I _never_ lie.” she lied.

“Neither do I.” Cassiopeia smirked back.

“So.” the Spider Queen said, looking around. “This isn’t your usual scene, which leads me to believe there’s someone around you are keeping an eye on.”

The Du Couteau did not confirm or deny. In the back of her mind, she was aware the match was over. The crowd’s cheering was deafening, the casters’ desk was welcoming Triana as the newest addition to the Diamond dorm. Soon enough, the summoner’s steps were drawing closer to the exit. 

Elise’s lips parted in a knowing ‘ _ah’_. “So _that’s_ who made you come all the way out here for.” Cassiopeia gave her a look, which didn’t deter her in the slightest. “Your new summoner? Looking _scrumptious_.”

“Katarina’s girl.” she lied with all the grace in the world.

“Is she, though.” Elise drew her sunglasses down, fixing an amused crimson gaze on her.

Cassiopeia raised an eyebrow.

“I don’t know if she’s Katarina’s type, exactly…” Elise’s eye gleamed as her mouth curved into a full-blown smirk. “…but she _definitely_ is yours.”

The younger heiress kept her expression calm and schooled. On the inside though, alarm bells rang that perhaps Elise knew her a little too well. There shouldn’t be any real danger to her knowing about Triana, how important to her plans she was, but then again there could never be solid trust between nobles in Noxus.

“And just a warning; Cassiopeia,” the Spider Queen said, as she turned to go. “Many thirst for your blood, back home. Tonight’s gathering won’t be a welcoming one.”

…

Cassiopeia thought she’d be more excited to finally get the Shuriman scroll in her possession, but once again life decided to prove her wrong by throwing something bigger to stress about. That evening, it was the meeting with the entirety of the Noxian Elite, inside the Immortal Bastion.

There was too much to think about. How many agents they’d be bringing for protection, where she would assign the rest of them to gather intel on the nobles present. If she should bring Talon along with Katarina and her, or leave him as their personal guard at the entrance to the meeting room. What image each scenario painted for their family, their unity.

Either way, the vultures inside would tear into them one way or another.

Cassiopeia had to prepare herself for comments she wasn’t sure she could stand to hear, much less brush by, while preparing her siblings for the attacks they’d receive, as well. 

Once again, she had to be stronger than she was.

The salon of their limousine was eerily silent. No member of their family was in the mood for small talk –not when they knew they were in for a verbal execution soon. Talon and Katarina were looking out the window, their minds a million miles away. Cassiopeia was engrossed in her phone, typing out orders and making arrangements for the night.

At home, Freya greeted them all with warm hugs, but their smiles were forced. The clothes Cassiopeia had picked for them were already in their rooms, ironed to perfection. The youngest Du Couteau made sure to double the guards before they left once more.

The Immortal Bastion, visible from nearly all of Noxus, was always more intimidating up close. The walls were thick as a mountain, dark as a cave. All that iron felt like it was pressing Cassiopeia in, shoving her _down_. The air was colder inside and it took all her willpower not to compare her surroundings to the interior of an emperor’s tomb. Every second she spent there made her skin crawl.

Katarina led the way further in, up a massive set of stairs. The heavily armored soldiers all around parted to grant her access. The trio didn’t have the time to take a deep breath before they had to enter the meeting room. Perhaps it was for the best.

Cassiopeia had almost forgotten what it was like to stand before the entirety of the Crimson Elite and their scrutinizing gazes. The discomfort hit her like a speeding train, but she steeled her nerves. They took their seats in silence… yet the quiet wasn’t meant to last.

“I see we allow anyone in, these days, no matter how weak their blood.” One of the eldest nobles spoke up, scorn in his beady eyes. Talon didn’t bat an eyelash as all eyes turned to him, sitting beside her.

“Watch how you speak for a member of my family.” Katarina said, as Head of their House.

“He’s as much a member of your family as my dog is a member of mine!” he replied. More than half the room laughed at their expense. “Your father knew that. I thought his daughter would not be so sentimental.”

“And yet my father chose to view him as a son for his skills.” Katarina spoke, deceptively calm, although Cassiopeia could see the veins popping at her temple. “Speaking of which –how is _your_ son? Still the little bitch I remember borderline-failing combat class, back at the academy?” More laughter, this time the tide shifting in their favor.

The grey-haired man seethed. His wife, the pompous swine that she was, then opened her mouth. “Preposterous! That you even dare to talk about our son when months ago it was debated whether you should still be allowed to walk in here!”

“The blood in our veins allows us to be here. The ring on your finger is the only reason you can voice your opinion at _all_.” Katarina said, her glare enough to make the woman freeze.

“Then you should pay up for all that your blood stole from us to rise to power!” another noble spoke up from the massive rectangle table. Many agreed with him.

“Says the man who rigged the Middle Ring’s election in his favor.” Cassiopeia replied coolly.

He gulped under her stare, but like the Lernean hydra, one head down meant two more rose to take his place. “At least he’s brought his family glory with all the soldiers he’s recruited from the Middle Class, for Noxus. You have brought yours shame.”

Cassiopeia felt the poison in her veins spread to burn all of her.

Katarina slammed her hands on the table. “How _fucking_ dare you! You sit there and count your money like a good little accountant while we fight and _die_ for Noxus every day!” she roared.

“Enough.” Swain’s voice cut through the room like a blade. “Everybody sit down. I will hear no more of the past. Those matters were decided and should not be opened again, simply for arguing’s sake.” his eyes glared through every soul present. “Today we discuss the future.”

“But _they_ —” the first noble motioned towards them.

“The Du Couteaus have the chance to do wonders for our kingdom in the upcoming match. Surely, those prosperous plains Noxus couldn’t claim before will be enough to silence all doubts against them.” he said.

The conversation steered to other subjects, yet the quips remained, in one way or another. That was how it had always been, how it always would be. Vultures attacked prey that was weak. That was dying.

It felt like a blessing, when the meeting was over.

But Swain’s parting words were another knife cast. “For all champions who will represent Noxus against Demacia, I expect to evaluate your summoners next Friday. Dismissed.”

Katarina was so tense she was on the verge of pulling a muscle as she made her way outside. She practically leapt into the limousine waiting for them. Cassiopeia meant to follow suit, but a hand on her shoulder stopped her. She turned to see Elise, who motioned to speak to her in private. Talon glared at her, his blade at the ready, but the youngest Du Couteau raised her hand.

“What is it?”

A tiny, red-eyed spider crawled up Elise’s arm, to her shoulder. Cassiopeia knew it was one of her spies, far more effective than any person could hope to be. “Certain Houses stand to gain a lot by sabotaging you, you know this.” she began, quietly. “Keep your summoner _close_.”

It shouldn’t be that, out of everything else that night, which made her heart beat the loudest.

…

Cassiopeia came out of the shower far calmer than she’d been when she stepped in it. The warm water soothed some of the tension away from her back and scales, but her neck still hurt from it. Absent-mindedly, she took a clean towel and dried her hair –and only then noticed the ends reached all the way down to her chest, tickled the middle of her back.

Overcome by the urge to look at it, she grabbed the nearest mirror’s cover with eager fingers and claws…

And froze.

Her resolve shattered like thin glass. Slowly, her hold opened until she was merely smoothing the thick fabric down as she drew back. She still couldn’t do it. She couldn’t bear the sight of her own reflection. Perhaps then every lie she told herself to keep her sanity would come crashing down. Perhaps she’d lose it once more.

With no one to watch and judge her for it, Cassiopeia’s head and shoulders slumped. She tiredly slithered into her bed, knowing sleep wouldn’t come. The events of the day replayed in her mind, an endless loop. The looks of the Elite. Their spiteful words. The itch in her, behind her eyes, to reduce them all to stone, to _dust_.

Elise’s warning, that there were people after Triana.

Garnet eyes snapped open.

The digital clock at her bedside table read _one_. _Nothing can harm her in the Institute._ Cassiopeia thought. _They can’t get to her, and I’ll be there tomorrow. …but. What if she’s gone outside…?_

Her heart raced. She glanced down at her phone. _No, no. It’s late. She’s probably sleeping._ But the doubts in her head whispered, _what if she’s not?_

Cassiopeia regretted it the moment she pressed the call button. She went to cancel it, but Triana picked up that very second.

 _“Hey. Wrong call?”_ her voice came by the noblewoman’s ear.

“You can say that.” she replied, suddenly _exhausted_.

 _“Is everything okay?”_ Triana asked.

“Promise me that you won’t leave the League unless either Katarina or Talon are with you.” Cassiopeia spoke. She knew just how controlling that sounded, but she didn’t want to have to explain that assassins would be after her head. Triana didn’t deserve to live with that fear. “Just –until the game with Demacia. _Promise_.”

 _“I promise.”_ she said in her pretty accent. _“But, Cassiopeia. Are you alright?”_

_No._

“I’m fine.” _I’m just so tired._ She shut her eyes tightly. “…we left in such a hurry I never congratulated you for your promotion to Diamond. How’s the new dorm?”

 _“It’s… big.”_ Triana chuckled on the other end. _“If the Diamond bed is like this I can only imagine what the Challenger one must be like.”_

“I’m sure you’ll see it someday.” Cassiopeia said.

Her mind was already conjuring images of Triana in the big leagues, the gorgeous Challenger pin glowing proudly on her chest… but she wasn’t near her in any of those scenarios. Their paths separated at the upcoming grand match. They should, if she knew what was good for her.

_“Maybe you’ll see it with me.”_

A small, amused little smirk crossed Cassiopeia’s lips. “The bed?” she asked, on purpose.

She could practically hear Triana changing colors, skin going from tan to red, on the other side _. “The—”_ something in Shuriman was rapidly said. _“The_ dorm _! Challenger in general as a- as a concept!”_

“Are you sure that’s what you meant?” Cassiopeia tried to keep any sign of playfulness out of her tone. _Not that I’d be opposed to seeing the bed with– shut up._

 _“Stop…”_ Triana pleaded tiredly.

“Only because you’re two steps from falling asleep on me.” Cassiopeia frowned at her choice of words. Why did everything she said to Triana have to sound so wrong to her own ears?

 _“I’m not...”_ She absolutely was.

“Sleep well.” the noble spoke. Something that sounded too hot in Shuriman was said in return, before the call ended.

Cassiopeia dropped her phone on the mattress and huffed. If she closed her eyes then, it wasn’t the biting glares of the Elite she saw, but hazel eyes and pretty lips moving above her, to form words in a different language. It was warm hands closing around her wrists and urging them against the bed despite her greater strength. Those same deft fingers trailing down her stomach, down the scales of her tail, to a part of it that _ached_.

Cassiopeia hadn’t dared explore her transformed body in three years, but she almost did, in that moment. Her fingers trailed down hard, jade scales, almost to the part where they softened and could part…

She sprang upright, hiding her face in her hands. _No! No, what are you doing…_

Cassiopeia forced herself to rise and move over to her desk, out of fear of falling asleep. She wouldn’t have nightmares, but she didn’t want to risk having dreams of _that_ sort, either.

In the quietness of her room, she turned on a single, soft lamp and finally opened the Shuriman scroll to its full length. It smelled like old magic and dust. She got to work translating.

It took her until sunrise. But, finally, the ancient text read:

_This is the tale of the Eleven Ghosts, forbidden in Shurima, that must be preserved in the passing of centuries. For it may be true that the Emperor’s word is the word of a God, but it is absolutely true the Gods do not abandon heroes to fade away in time, legends to be reduced to nothing._

_The First and leader of the Ghosts was born in the day when the sun shone its brightest. Priests across all of Shurima agreed it was a sign the child was meant for greatness. There were few who claimed the opposite –that she was destined for great destruction. Where the light is the most intense, after all, is where the darkest shadows are cast._

Cassiopeia read on.

_She was the child of the woman who answered the calling of the Gods to become the next High Priestess, born with the natural instincts and gifts of a warrior. As she grew, she would best all of her tutors. She would ask to bring glory to her Empire in real combat and become the youngest to fight wars under Renekton._

_On her sixteenth birthday, she asked the Emperor to assemble her own force. One she promised him would take down armies with the swiftness of a spirit –unseen. The order was given, that she could pick anybody she deemed fit for such a task. Yet instead of the many warriors and nobles that sought to join her, she picked ten individuals among Shurima’s slaves. A decision heavily criticized –until, years later, her promise was fulfilled._

_No defence could hold against her assassins. No walls or fortresses could keep them. Shurima’s enemies surrendered at the mere sight of them, without any blood shed._

Cassiopeia froze at the battles they were said to have won. Because if the scroll was telling the truth… then everything else _wasn’t_. Conquests that passed down in history as Renekton’s victories weren’t accurate, at all. History itself was changed…

To erase them.

_But on the darkest night, the High Priestess was murdered. The First was fatally wounded in her attempt to rescue her mother. It was her first defeat. Disfigured and broken, all signs pointed that she would not fight again. All of Shurima mourned that day. Yet, once more, the Gods decreed differently… when the gift of magic was awakened within her._

“Oh, my Gods…” Cassiopeia breathed. The golden half-mask, preserved far better than anything in the temple excavated in Noxus, the one currently in the Du Couteaus’ mansion… it was hers.

_The land the murderer was rumoured to be from, however, was allied with Shurima and the Emperor had given his word that no attacks would be issued against them. The First’s pleas for revenge could not be answered. Emperor Azir’s orders were absolute._

_She did not heed them._

_The Ghosts chose to follow her, though they knew death awaited upon their return. They entered the allied union of Assaxia and burned everything to the ground. The blood they hadn’t spilled in years flowed in rivers. The Ghosts of noble warriors had turned into vengeful Wraiths._

_The First returned to the Emperor’s Palace after the massacre and threw the assassin’s severed head at his feet. Some say she had gone mad when she attacked Azir’s wife –but those who knew her better claimed otherwise._

_The price of their sin was to be erased from all records. From history. The ten Ghosts were sentenced to death, their bodies thrown in the sands to be eaten by the Xer’Sai. The First was banished from Shurima, to a distant place, never to return._

_The land was dark, filled with clouds and rain, the furthest from the sun as one could be. Yet even in the shadows she thrived and continued to teach others the ways of a wraith, as she had her own ghosts._

“I don’t believe this.” Cassiopeia said.

She wondered if her father knew this legend, if it had passed down from generation to generation of assassins. After all, he had been the one to tell them that the ‘Shunpo’ of the Du Couteaus was a weaker variant of the ‘Shadow Step’, hailing from ancient Shurima.

_There she remained, until the time had come for Shurima’s collapse. When the Emperor would pay for his own sins and the one truly chosen by the Gods would rise to claim the sands._

_The Firstborn child of Azir. The daughter of the Sun’s High Priestess. First of the Ghosts. The true last Empress of Shurima._

_Whose name was Asenath._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not much interaction between our two fav girls this chapter but it's necessary for the plot and set-up ;). You get horny Cass in return and Elise being Elise, so. The 'Tale of the Eleven Ghosts' isn't all there is to the story, of course, too many things left unsaid even there, but you get a better idea of what's gone down in Shurima before it went to shit. 
> 
> PS. We all stan Kat as the Badass Head of her House. Stay a w e s o m e people!


	11. Chapter 11

**[Katarina]**

A deal was a deal. And a Du Couteau never went back on their word.

Katarina wasn’t certain what magic Triana weaved to get her sister to attend that pool party, but the summoner was more than owed the fanciest food in the League for the feat. The Shuriman didn’t press her, didn’t even remind her of her promise when she returned from that maddening meeting in Noxus, yet the assassin brought it up herself.

If she were completely honest, she needed the excuse so she wouldn’t have to admit she wanted Triana’s company. Everything seemed far easier, simpler, with the blonde around. Perhaps by drinking her problems away with her, engaged in light chatter and jabs that held no weight, no political implications or titles, she could finally put that whole damn night behind her. 

“The deal was also for you to say nice things about Teemo and Yuumi, remember?” Triana said, leaning back into her chair after finishing her chocolate cake. “So, let’s hear it, Katarina.” She was grinning like the fucking Cheshire cat.

Katarina huffed under her fringe. Threw her a glare that promised murder if she kept pushing her luck. It didn’t work quite as well on Triana as it did the rest of the world. “I guess…” She looked left and right to make sure nobody was near to witness the forbidden words about to leave her lips. “They look… fluffy? And they can be… useful… sometimes.” Gods, it felt like pulling teeth.

Triana took a sharp breath to keep back a snicker.

Katarina held back all the curse words that flooded her mind… for about two seconds. And then she couldn’t do it anymore. “When they’re not being little pieces of absolute fucking _shit_ on my team and annoying-ass overpowered _rodents_ as enemies.”

The Shuriman threw her head back in a hearty laugh. “Okay, truth is, I didn’t think you’d manage a full sentence. You look really different when you’re being nice.”

“Shut up, Triana.” Katarina, scowl light on her face, waved with her hand. “You tell anyone about this, you can consider your life forfeit.”

“Relax, it’s not like anyone will believe the word ‘fluffy’ ever left your mouth.” The assassin raised a palm to her face. “But, hey, at least you’re not sulking anymore, so it worked.” was said, accompanied by a soft, pretty smile. A smile that was warm sand glistening under the sunrise, that was a rare light in a world ruled by the dark.

Green eyes rose to meet hazel.

And in that moment Triana didn’t reflect in her gaze as a summoner, or an acquaintance she could mess around and have harmless fun with. She was something more solid, threatening to tread the line of ‘important’. Katarina’s self-defence mechanisms kicked in, at full force, because she’d been burned too bad in the past, one way or another, by people she’d considered _close_ to her.

Friends.

She motioned for the check in a move that felt too much like a tactical retreat.

Outside the restaurant, the fresh air helped her nerves settle down somewhat. They walked in relative quiet towards their next destination, Sovereign. The bass beat was surrounding them before the entrance was even fully visible.

“Did I thank you for the food?” Triana spoke up while they could still hear each other talk without shouting over music. “That has to be the best cake I have ever tasted. So _unique_.”

“…you’ve never tried Noxian chocolate, before?” Katarina asked, brow creasing in a frown. It was easily one of the most popular sweets of recent decades. Triana shook her head ‘no’. “What century were you _born_ in?” the assassin joked. “Next thing you’ll tell me is that you’ve never seen _Alien_.”

Triana’s forehead creased in confusion.

Katarina _gasped_. “…the movie? With the facehuggers?”

“Uh… no, must have slipped right by me.” the Shuriman shrugged.

 _The fuck?_ The redhead thought. _Even Ashe has seen that one and she grew up surrounded by weapons and a shit ton of snow._ “We’ll fix that some other time.” she reassured as they stepped past the neon-lit threshold, into a world of alcohol and noise.

The pair made their way to their usual spot. Katarina ordered a cocktail relatively safe to drink, that time, which Triana still had the audacity to eye suspiciously before she tried. The blonde talked about the hilarious reactions fans had about the two of them, how Katarina’s crazed fangirls were divided into two major groups, one wanting to kill her, the other wanting to get in her pants. The assassin could argue that the former was safer.

Everything was going great.

For a while.

Until, sometime during their second drink, a fight broke out behind them. Apparently, some drunk GrandMaster aggressively hit on Lux –and Garen had to intervene, grabbing his hand before it could reach his sister, shoving him back. The problem was, his strength turned the scrawny guy into a sort of human missile. People who saw him flying into them hurried to get out of the way… which, in the end, left Katarina’s back exposed for the crash.

The redhead only had the time to see Triana’s expression shift to alarm –and then a weight knocked the breath out of her, her glass out of her hand.

Emerald eyes _flashed_.

There was no time for apologies when the Du Couteau sharply twisted around, grabbed the back of the man’s neck and _smashed_ his face into the counter, with force enough to crack the glass there. The summoner slid down like an empty sack, nose bleeding all over, unconscious on the polished floor.

A cold gaze locked with Garen’s –and he raised his hands up as she approached, as if to explain.

“It wasn’t on purpose.” he said.

“No, no. I understand.” she replied, fast, clipped. Took a deep, steadying breath that didn’t really have any positive effect on her. If anything, her blood pounded harder in her veins. In her ears.

“You… do?”

“Yep.” Katarina nodded. Made a move as if to go. Her eye caught Triana’s unconvinced gaze in the split second it took her to reach for the nearest bottle. Then she turned–

And _shattered_ it into Garen’s face. 

All hell broke loose.

Fiora was the first to come to his protection, with a flying kick that landed straight onto Katarina’s stomach. It sent her staggering several steps back, but Shyvana was already leaping into the frey after her, ready to return the favor twofold. The assassin, dizzied from the earlier hit, knew she didn’t have the time to dodge. Her forearms instinctively raised to block the Half-Dragon’s chop, fully prepared for it to hurt like all _fuck_.

It—didn’t.

A shadow pushed through the shocked onlookers, lodged in front of her like a greatshield, taking the blunt of the hit, instead.

When her vision focused, Katarina saw broad, tan shoulders, familiar platinum hair pulled back into a spiky bun.

_Fucking. Riven._

“That’s enough, Shyvana! Don’t push it!” the self-exile shouted. The defined muscles in her arms strained from the force it took to keep the dragoness contained. “You know Noxians trade blow for blow. It’s _over_.”

Shyvana snarled, but the tendons in her neck and arm eased. She took half a step back in acceptance… yet, at that point, Katarina’s explosive anger was no longer turned towards the Demacians present. Noxians did trade blow for blow and the matter was indeed settled. But her history with Riven _never_ would be.

They’d been so close, once, it was like Katarina had another sister.

An annoying, smartass, stubborn, reliable sister who she’d been through hell with, during her early years at the military academy of Noxus. Same dorm, same desk during classes. Same devotion to their kingdom.

Though their ways were destined to separate –Riven was the example soldier, who continued to rise through the army’s ranks, while Katarina was meant for the path of the assassin, they’d made a promise before graduation to always look out for each other. Years later, one a highly-esteemed captain, the other Noxus’ deadliest tool, that oath held strong.

Katarina used to trust her. With her sister, one day with their last name. Cassiopeia had to be married to someone of substantial influence, eventually, and both their father and she believed Riven was the best choice. Nobody in Noxus had any doubts she’d become a General, one day. It just made sense.

Until.

Until she _left_.

Until she let them mourn her death in the battle against Ionia for _years_ , all because she claimed it was the only way to escape the monster Noxus had become. She wanted to change, to be better than a killer of innocents on someone else’s orders. That was her justification.

To Katarina’s eyes, none of that meant _shit_.

From her perspective, Riven was a deserter to her nation. To her family.

She wasn’t where she was meant to be when Cassiopeia was suffering. Maybe if she had been, her sister wouldn’t have gone to Shurima at all, though deep down the assassin knew that was just wishful thinking. She wasn’t there to ‘look out for her’ when the other nobles nearly tore her apart, after her father’s disappearance. She wasn’t anywhere close while they _bled_ trying to keep their position in the Crimson Elite.

Riven just wasn’t _there_.

Instead, she was trying to find her ‘inner peace’ in Ionia.

“Get out of my face, you fucking _traitor_.” Katarina hissed, a sound as low and deadly as drawing a sword from its sheath.

Before Riven could fully turn around, the assassin’s fist was cutting through the air for her jaw. The impact practically reverberated across the floor. Irelia stepped out of the crowd to catch the Exile, her spiteful gaze locking with Katarina’s killer-cold eye.

The Sinister Blade didn’t expect that brief opening would herald another attack from the side.

Yet, utilizing the opportunity of her distraction, Jarvan thrust forward from her blind spot, probably thinking only blood –hers in exchange for Garen’s— could truly even the score. The assassin realized it too late to shunpo away—

But the blood that drip-dropped onto the floor wasn’t hers.

The music stopped.

Jade eyes moved across the toned arm before her, extended to catch Jarvan’s armored fist before it could connect with her chest. The golden spikes around his knuckles dug angrily into tan skin, deeper the more it squeezed around them. More crimson droplets crashed on the floor. Painted it, in abstract shapes.

Nobody in the silence that followed dared draw a single breath.

Triana’s face was a mask as emotionless as it was beautiful. A sort of dark calm which, in that moment, even Katarina found _terrifying_.

“Ah.” was said, a subtle, icier shift from her usual tone. “Everyone saw he attacked me, right?” she addressed all the bystanders. A sinister gleam formed in her eye. “I guess, according to my summoner contract, I am now allowed to defend myself.”

Triana moved her hand joined with Jarvan out of the way. Her other palm extended towards his middle…

And Katarina felt her skin _pull_ , a feeling akin to being left too long out in the sun, or moving into a sandstorm, its grains brushing against her skin like blades. Triana’s aura was hot, it always had been, whenever they’d bonded, but the burst that followed then was cold, black as a starless sky. Jarvan got knocked into Shyvana, into the table behind them, wrecking everything on it.

“Are you satisfied, now?” Triana asked. Expecting no reply, she turned towards the exit. Katarina caught the eyes of the Demacian summoners present, who looked like they’d just witnessed a revelation.

 _That’s right, you shits. This is who you’re facing._ Wordlessly, she followed after the blonde.

“Your new summoner suits you.” Irelia spat towards her. “Like your kingdom, she’s a _monster_.”

Katarina didn’t stop walking to acknowledge her. She knew if she did, her blades would do the talking. Instead, Ashe’s image came to the forefront of her mind, urging her to stay in control, to keep her fingers off her knives. Step after even step was forced, until she was outside, completely out of view.

Triana waited for her, seated on a bench in the darkness of the League grounds. Her expression was cool, lost in thought. Hazel orbs peered up when Katarina stopped right in front of her, green glare towering from above.

“Same thing that goes for Riven goes for you. I _don’t_ need your help.” she said, a firm warning in her tone.

“I know.” Triana shrugged. “Who says I did it for you?”

The shadows around Katarina’s eyes deepened. The Shuriman’s palm was still an artwork of varying shades of red. She didn’t seem to mind one bit, nor care to heal it, as if her brain barely registered the pain. “Who did you do this for, then?”

“Me.” was said simply.

“Oh, so you’re secretly a bastard who enjoys violence –that it?” Katarina replied sarcastically.

The summoner’s response was a cryptic smile. “Maybe.” There was a pregnant pause. “Suffice it to say I don’t like self-righteous men in golden suits, who think their royal blood makes them something.” Triana leaned back as she said it, all cutting edges in her eyes. They were a far cry from the sunny, angel-smile that had graced her lips earlier that evening.

Katarina had always thought hers was a face created in sunlight, _for_ sunlight.

That was the first time she saw the side of Triana that was perfectly at home in the dark.

...

She did not remember kissing her.

The night had ended on a less than bright note and Katarina was fairly certain with her buzz killed so abruptly, she wouldn’t have done something of the sort and then forget about it. She’d walked Triana to her dorm, patted her on the back for goodnight… and then nothing.

She didn’t kiss her.

But the damn photo sure made it look like she had. And it was _everywhere_. 

On every newspaper, magazine, every single webpage. The number one ‘most read’ article was about their not-so-secret relationship, while gossip shows were having a field day with the news.

Katarina wasn’t even sure how the fucking paparazzi managed to get that angle. And between the explosive attention from any and all sources, Cassiopeia’s insistent fussing –and why was it a problem? It got their whole ‘dating’ point across very clearly— and Ashe texting to meet for the first time in what felt like ages, she didn’t really have the time to wonder further about it.

The assassin’s nerves were straining. Dangerously.

“Look at the bright side.” Talon said during breakfast. “At least Ashe wants to meet. Now she knows what it's like for you to be the jealous one in the relationship.” To think of her half-brother as the voice of reason meant Katarina hit a new low in life.

But he wasn’t entirely wrong.

She glared, for good measure. “Alright, I’m going. Make sure I’m not followed.”

Utilizing her assassin skills, Katarina stealthed her way to the unused wing of the Institute. She hid and progressed through shadows, until she was near her target, the last of many chambers used as storage rooms. The door was completely shut, unlike most of the others, which were left slightly ajar.

The redhead took a deep breath. Tapped a very specific sequence onto the sturdy surface. The sound of locks sliding came from the other side.

The second the door opened just a crack, a gloved hand reached out and grabbed her by the jacket, hastily pulling her in.

Katarina barely had time to come up with something smart to say. It didn't matter when a slightly shorter, colder body knocked into hers, arms snaking _tight_ around her neck.

The chill of Freljord and lilies; her girlfriend’s fresh, soothing scent surrounded her senses, and Katarina smiled despite herself. Gradually, her muscles went lax in their embrace, her chin resting on the royal-blue fabric covering smooth, pale shoulders. Stray white locks tickled her nose.

She pressed a little deeper into Ashe’s neck.

Lost in her own little bubble of comfort that they were finally together again –and trying to deny it— she almost failed to catch the queen‘s muffled “Missed you.” against the collar of her leather jacket.

She didn't want to say ‘me too’ because she was a Noxian and an assassin and she didn't do that sentimental shit… but she nodded, holding Ashe tighter because she was also – _just a little, tiny bit_ — in love with her. “Maybe you should call more often, then.” A selfish part of her said, though them even texting ‘hello’ was dangerous as all hell.

That seemed to break the haze.

The next second, Ashe was pulling back, lightly slapping her on the shoulder. “Maybe you shouldn't give me reasons _not_ to.” Her silvery, high voice held a new firmness to it.

“Green isn't a very good color on you, baby.” she grinned, _extremely_ self-satisfied. Indeed, the rare sight of jealous Ashe was as hot as she had imagined it would be. Just plain precious.

“Green isn't the only color I turned when I went to the cafeteria this morning and saw _this_ -” she said, ice-blue eyes fixed on green as she pulled out her phone with her free hand, displaying the article and the image. “- _baby_.”

 _Ouch_. The word held more pressure than it could bear.

They remained locked in a staring contest.

Katarina eventually huffed. “I didn’t kiss her.” she assured slowly, emphasizing every word. When she was sure Ashe believed her, she added: “Sure fucking looks like it, though. Cute capture.” which, understandably, earned her a narrowed, icy _look_.

“Whatever, laugh away, you _jerk._ ” The queen shook her head and put her phone away. “I'm not even jealous anymore.” A delicate shoulder shrugged.

A single, crimson eyebrow rose. “You're not?” Katarina smirked, bringing her hands higher up the Queen's slender waist. She drew her a bit closer, studying her expression –captivated mid-way by her gorgeous face and pretty pink lips. “Not even a little bit?”

Ashe rolled her vivid-blue eyes. “I mean, I probably would be, just a _little_ ,” she motioned with her thumb and pointer. “Because, okay, Triana is _so_ beautiful,”

Katarina smirked. No denying that one.

“But, then I saw her with Cassiopeia and I felt foolish.” There, the redhead wasn't sure she followed. It must have shown on her face. “I mean, I can't possibly be jealous of your sister's girlfriend.” Ashe explained and Katarina's smirk froze over on her lips.

“My… what.”

“I passed by them earlier today. They were walking side by side, arms linked, Cassiopeia was _smiling_ — they look cute together. Congrats.” Aside from the fact that Katarina remained stuck on the mental image for a good while, her brain soon tried to deny the connection.

“But...” She began, thinking back to how her sister had reacted upon seeing the image of ‘the kiss’. To anyone who didn’t know her she would have appeared mildly irritated, but Katarina knew better –and Cassiopeia had _flipped_. “But they are not...” She tried again, only to fail a second time.

Because, really _thinking_ about it, the blonde who came out of nowhere managed by herself what Katarina, Talon and several psychologists hadn't been able to accomplish in three years: drag Cassiopeia out of her cocoon of self-isolation. Her mood was much more stable since her partnership with Triana began…

Not to mention her sister always had an eye for shiny, striking things and the Shuriman quite tended to magnetize the eye.

“Oh, shit.” she breathed out.

 _Oh shit_ , indeed.

**[Triana]**

Ever since she returned from Noxus, Cassiopeia wasn’t quite well.

It wasn’t easy to tell with the godlike control she constantly held over her features and body language, but it showed in the little things, if one looked closely enough. Triana knew she shouldn’t, she’d told herself she wouldn’t, yet she still noticed them, every day. 

Her shoulders were always tight, her neck strained, in a way that made a little vein adjacent to her pulse stand out, a detail that had no right being so attractive. Her tone was always sharp and curt when she talked. There was a newfound tension lingering at the corners of her eyes, which scanned their surroundings as though expecting danger at every corner.

Triana wasn’t certain what was said to make her that way, but she could guess. Hers was the look of someone waiting to be stabbed in the back. And since she was certain that wouldn’t work on Cassiopeia’s impenetrable skin… it meant the woman was worried for someone else. It didn’t take a genius to deduce the knife would be aimed for her all along.

Still, the summoner kept her mouth shut about all of it. The noblewoman’s problems were her own, she’d decided… and she wouldn’t get involved any further than she already had.

But on the fourth day of watching the slightest thing make Cassiopeia jump, she realized she couldn’t stand back in silence anymore. The problem was, the Du Couteau was too proud to be tackled about the matter head-on. If Triana commented on her accumulated stress, the most likely reaction would be walls of titanium raised between them.

So, she tried a different approach.

“Hey.” Triana said, making Cassiopeia pause on their way back to the champion dorms.

“What is it?” Immediately, slitted eyes scanned the dark for any hidden presence, but they were the only ones around.

Hazel eyes looked up to the clear night sky. Then, on their way down, they caught on the massive clocktower atop the Institute’s main building, a golden giant that could be seen from all the cities bellow the mountain it was built upon. An idea came to mind.

“Can we go somewhere?” she asked. Cassiopeia seemed cautious but nodded.

Triana motioned for her to follow as she led them into the crowded main lobby, up the stairs and corridors to the less used wings and libraries, where few summoners lingered. Soon, they reached the sealed stairs leading to the clocktower. ‘Staff only’, the sign there read, before Triana used a burst of her magic to break open the seal.

“I am starting to worry that whatever you drank with my sister last night has some serious side effects.” Cassiopeia stated, her arms crossed.

Triana threw her a little smile over her shoulder. “But you’re curious enough to come with me?” Of course, she already knew the answer to that.

“Maybe.”

She could work with ‘maybe’.

The Shuriman began their ascent up the hundred stairs to the top, where another locked door blocked the path. She easily undid the magical seal on it –a weak one, as the Institute didn’t seem to think anybody would find interest there— and opened it wide, stepping outside.

Cassiopeia peeked past it, past Triana’s shoulder… and her pretty eyes widened.

If she hadn’t realized how high up they had climbed, before, she definitely did, then. Triana couldn’t say she didn’t expect the claws that grabbed her robes, pulling her halfway back in, or the deadly green glare that met her gaze.

“ _Why_ are we here?” Cassiopeia demanded.

“Will you trust me?”

“I don’t trust anybody.” was the immediate reply.

“You don’t have to come with me.” Triana said, kept their eyes locked. “Or believe me when I say I don’t have an ulterior motive for asking you here.”

Cassiopeia’s grip gradually eased. “Walk slow and don’t try anything funny.”

Triana nodded. She turned back outside, golden strands of hair billowing in the wind. The small balcony-like ledge they were on cut ahead, but the Shuriman already knew that. She threw her champion another confident little smirk… and jumped on the railing at the end, grabbed at the nooks of the building’s design, then easily pulled her body into the final level.

“Can you climb?”

Cassiopeia was still glaring at her from below. A huff was let out. She sprang up with her tail, needing only a little pull with her hands to join her. Lime eyes once again widened at the height and the fact there were no safety railings there, in case anyone got too close to the edge.

Triana offered a kind smile and gently tugged on her hand to the alcove underneath the giant clock, sitting down first. Cassiopeia joined her, the distrust on her fine features slowly melting away to wonder. She looked down at the world, small and unimportant from where they stood. The dorms, giants from below, were little less than big shapes from their viewpoint. 

“It’s so… quiet.” she whispered, almost in awe. And it really was. There were no sounds other than those made by the wind, perhaps the occasional whirr of the magic-turning gears within the clock, audible only to one of them.

If she were completely honest, Triana hadn’t expected Cassiopeia to follow her all the way up.

Garnet eyes turned to hers. The blonde tried not to linger too long on how the moonlight reflected in them, how it caressed the side of her beautiful face. “Why?” she asked, the hostility from before evaporated.

“It can get really intense down there sometimes. A change is good.” the summoner replied. “To set things into perspective.” That was the difference Cassiopeia had with the people that set her so on edge. Although she didn’t know, that was the difference Triana had with all those they would send after her. They could not reach them– and they were insignificant.

Cassiopeia tapped one claw on the ledge they were sitting on, cast her gaze far and beyond once more, but didn’t say anything. They remained in soothing silence for a long while. Then the noblewoman rolled her neck and shoulders in a motion that shouldn’t be painful, yet it seemed so.

Triana suddenly found she couldn’t tear her gaze away from the marble plane of her nape. Thoughts swirled in her mind, of leaning closer to her, offering to help alleviate the tension, yet the mere notion of her hands on Cassiopeia in that moment seemed too dangerous to even entertain. Her fingers flexed; dug into her lap. Perhaps it wasn’t the smartest move on her part to ask the noble to be alone with her, away from everyone and everything.

It was bad enough that she couldn’t focus on anything else even when there were distractions around. But up there…

There was only her.

“You’re strangely quiet, now.” Cassiopeia commented. When she shifted back to her once more, Triana’s heart sped up in her chest. She only then noticed the alcove didn’t leave nearly enough room to be apart. “Why is that?”

There it was again, the dissecting look. “Just… enjoying the scenery.” she responded.

“You don’t have any specific tells when you lie.” Cassiopeia spoke quietly, slightly tilting her head to the side, leaning just a tad closer. Their eyes remained locked. If she averted hers, Triana knew that would be backing out, admitting defeat. And she had _never_ done such a thing.

“That’s good.” Triana forced a cocky smirk on. Held her ground.

“But your heart is beating louder.” Cassiopeia stated with the same focused calm, laying a hand on her stomach that felt like it pinned her without applying any pressure.

Triana kept her muscles loose, yet there were reactions she couldn’t control. Like those the champion listened for. Like the tiny flame that licked her skin where Cassiopeia’s hand was. Hazel eyes lingered on the curve of the champion’s jaw, her delicate chin, the way her lashes shadowed the gems underneath. The moist shine of her lips in the moonlight.

Triana always had a knack for wanting things she shouldn’t have.

“Must be the rush of being so high up.” she lied, very careful to keep her voice even, cool.

“Could be.” Cassiopeia leaned closer still, angled her head so her cheek barely brushed Triana’s, the ghost of a touch, more imagined than actually felt.

They weren’t touching in any part other than the hand firmly on her stomach, but the blonde felt like her skin was on fire. This wasn’t what she had in mind when she brought Cassiopeia to the top of the world. Not her head in the soft-looking crook of her neck, not to be surrounded by her scent and seduced by her elegance.

“Or is it finally catching up to you who you’re up here with?” the Du Couteau asked. Every word was sweet torture against the sensitive shell of her ear. “Tell me, Triana. Are you afraid?”

If she said yes, Cassiopeia would get a completely wrong idea. If she said no… she would get the right idea. Both scenarios, Triana wanted to avoid. Except it wasn’t easy to think when azaleas was all she could inhale, when that graceful jawline was inches from her lips and it took all her willpower not to close the distance.

“Do you want me to be?” she asked.

Cassiopeia retreated a tad and it was both a mercy and a loss. She stared at her square in the eye and pressed _down_ with her hand, so Triana really was pinned, like prey with the lioness on top. Chartreuse eyes narrowed, looking for something…

“You should be. Do you know how many people I’ve killed, just like this?” she said, claws digging into her robes the slightest amount. Just to be felt –a warning. The summoner wasn’t as much terrified as she was aroused by it. “Even before the transformation. Maybe especially then.”

“I… don’t doubt it.” Triana replied cautiously, never taking her eyes off of hers.

Then…

Cassiopeia drew back, completely. She sat right back in her corner like nothing ever happened, her arms gracefully folded over her tail. The warm, hazy fog cleared way too suddenly from Triana’s head. She sat upright, expression already breaking into an inquiry, when—

“I didn’t mean to pressure you this much, but I had to know something before I present you to Swain, next week.” 

“…what?”

“You never did react when I mentioned assassinating others, in conversations before. You didn’t now, either. I couldn’t be certain then, but I am, this time.”

Hazel eyes narrowed.

Garnet focused on them.

“You’ve killed at least one person in the past –and you enjoyed it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What is this, you say?? Cass reverting to her old habits/self and getting up close and personal to extract the information she wants out of Triana? Our Shuriman prettygirl pining after her because everything about the young Du Couteau is just plain hot? Yes, indeed. (Also Riven is a secret cutie and she still cares about them, just needed to get away from Noxus so she could save herself. More on that in later chapters)
> 
> I like the idea that Ashe is the first to notice something's going on there ;) because she's both close enough to Cassiopeia to care about her and far enough that she notices the change. Unlike Katarina, who sees her every day and had lost hope, until that point. (there will be way more Ashe in later chapters, i promise.)
> 
> On a side note, my work is getting very demanding and one or two updates mayyyy end up slow. Just may. But stay patient and awesome, I'm never abandoning works I start on here. Kudos <3


	12. Chapter 12

**[Cassiopeia]**

It was almost time.

Friday was drawing too close for comfort; Cassiopeia’s every emotion was overshadowed by the stress that simple fact caused. Soon, every champion selected to represent Noxus would bring their chosen partner before Swain to be evaluated –and the noblewoman didn’t even want to think of the scenario where he wouldn’t approve of Triana.

 _Of course, what is there not to approve of?_ The logical part of her brain mused. The Shuriman had both the talent and the aptitude to stand under Noxus’ banner in the Grand Arena. She was gorgeous to boot, a face made for promotional shoots, for the spotlight. In every way, she was _perfect_.

If Triana far exceeded her gargantuan standards, surely she could sway the General in her favor, as well. Then again… Swain was no easy man to impress. Rather, there was no way to tell what truly impressed him; he was one of the few individuals in the world Cassiopeia could not read.

And for all the things Triana had going for her, there was one that was bound to work against her.

_She is many things…_

_But she is not a Noxian._

Cassiopeia had to make her into one.

Starting with her appearance, the standard Diamond robes would have to _go_. The summoner protested to taking the entire day off matches, but one look from the noblewoman was enough to silence all complains. Begrudgingly, Triana requested a twenty-four hour leave from the League.

They met at the main gate.

The Shuriman greeted her with a sunny smile, which Cassiopeia returned with a polite one of her own. Hazel eyes then peeked over her shoulder, at the shiny black limousine waiting for them, a few steps away. The surprise in them shouldn’t look so endearing, but it did.

The driver bowed towards Cassiopeia when she approached, opening the door for her. She gracefully slid in, gestured for Triana to join the seats adjacent to her. The blonde gazed about the salon appreciatively.

“Fancy.” she commented. “Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.” Cassiopeia’s lip curled ever-so-subtly.

The drive to Noxus was a long one. The heiress had traveled the road so many times the beauty of the scenery had lost its appeal to her, yet there was something invigorating about visiting her kingdom with Triana. Her eyes, more green than brown under the grace of the sun, gazed out the window eagerly, taking every detail in. As soon as they reached the outskirts of Noxus and the Imperial Bastion came into view at the far distance, a looming, iron giant acting like the counterpart to the League’s golden one, awe colored the blonde’s beautiful face.

“Noxus has changed so much…” she breathed out, the hint of a smile in her tone. It was said so low, a thought perhaps not meant to be voiced, Cassiopeia would not have heard it if not for her inhuman senses.

“You’ve been here before?”

Triana’s attention turned back to her. Her carefree smile dimmed, though didn’t disappear. “A very long time ago.”

Cassiopeia studied her expression carefully. “That’s a long way from Shurima. How come?”

“I was forced by… circumstances.” Triana replied.

Chartreuse orbs narrowed. “You had to get away from something.” It wasn’t a question.

“Some things.” was the cryptic answer. It was easy to see when the summoner’s walls were raised back up to the sky –and the noble had learned it was counterproductive to push, then. The fire of her curiosity had been ignited, yet Cassiopeia urged herself to be patient.

The best of mysteries, the most rewarding, were those unraveled slowly.

She had a feeling unraveling Triana’s would be very rewarding, indeed.

…

The first stop was the capital’s mall.

As soon as Cassiopeia was out of the car, a myriad expensive scents, from nobles’ perfumes to the air fresheners from inside all the shops, crashed into her like a tidal wave. She set her jaw not to grow dizzy under the sensory overload, not to sway under the scrutinizing gazes turning her way. She knew it wouldn’t be easy the moment she decided to take Triana there. If she’d underestimated how difficult it would be… well. She always did have to live with the consequences of her choices.

Cassiopeia steeled her nerves. It always helped to focus on only one thing–and Triana seemed like the sturdiest one around. The steadiest. The safest.

The sound of her heart beating, even and slow, helped drown out the meaningless, maddening noise. Her distinct scent of Shuriman body oils and lilies, like a fresh pond amidst an enchanting garden, was easy to latch onto. Easier still, when the summoner came to stand by her side, asked “Where to?”. 

Cassiopeia could hear people whispering whether that was ‘Katarina Du Couteau’s’ girlfriend they were seeing with her, accompanied by dreamy sighs. There were comments about how her sister knew how to pick them… and other, not-so subtle praises about the blonde’s looks.

Cassiopeia’s needle-sharp gaze shot towards the man who dared say he would ‘fuck her sexy eyes out’.

Triana chuckled; a warm, soothing sound, but there was no way she heard the thirsty idiot from across the mall. Still-narrowed lime eyes fell onto her. “That was a sniper killshot, if I’ve ever seen one.” she joked.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Cassiopeia lied.

“I don’t know what he said, but if looks could kill, that guy would be dead a thousand times over.” Triana commented. Of course, the noble had nearly forgotten how damningly _observant_ she was. 

Cassiopeia leaned just a tad closer to the blonde, enough so they were eye-to-eye. “My looks _can_ kill.” she stated. It was both refreshing and a bit sad that Triana never did turn away, intimidated by her gaze.

Before another word could be said, the Du Couteau wrapped a firm hand around Triana’s elbow and pulled her along to their destination. It was a mercy from the gods they didn’t have to go far, that she could get away from all the stares and the _people_ so quickly.

The owner of the clothing store was an old acquaintance, who Cassiopeia knew valued quality above all else. Counts and Countesses from all over Valoran ordered pieces from him for a reason. He smiled and bowed as soon as they passed the threshold.

“Kyle.” Cassiopeia greeted politely. “This is my partner.”

“Ah, yes. I would be blind not to recognize such beauty. I have heard so _much_ about you and Lady Katarina.” the middle-aged man said to Triana.

Cassiopeia couldn’t explain why the thought of the blonde as something of Katarina’s, rather than hers, brought her such irritation. If she were completely honest, she didn’t _want_ to explain it. 

The noblewoman took over the conversation and requested very specific colors, brands and designs for Triana to try. From tops, to pants, to summoner robes, everything had to be exactly right, according to the image she had in mind. Kyle left them with the clothes, excused himself to the front part of the shop, to give them privacy.

After the first couple of pieces, Triana was starting to look positively _dismayed_. After the next dozen, her expression became the equivalent of: ‘when does this nightmare end?’.

She wouldn’t like the answer, so Cassiopeia refrained from giving one.

From her position, it was quite entertaining to sit back and order the mage around, to wear this or that. Then, upon her coming out of the dressing stall, she had the pleasure of feasting her eyes on the exquisite sight. It was no surprise Triana was a vision in _everything_.

Of course, there were also cons to the whole experience. Cassiopeia had to put conscious effort into keeping her senses focused elsewhere, to distract herself with her phone while Triana changed. Otherwise, the hiss of fabric sliding over her tan skin would be too tempting, a siren’s call threatening to undo her.

For a moment, just a moment, where her tight grip on her mind slipped, unwanted images swam to its forefront. Lidded hazel eyes, her fingers lingering over a toned stomach much like their private time at the top of the clocktower, except with no barrier of fabric between them.

“How much more of this do we have…?” The blonde’s voice nearly surprised her. She’d been too lost in her head to notice her slip past the cream-colored curtain once more, but she was more than glad for the distraction. The road her thoughts were headed down wasn’t a safe one.

“Not much.” she replied.

“You said the same thing one hour ago.” the summoner huffed. Something about the pleading look and the slight tilt of her chin, combined with her darling accent –which Cassiopeia had accepted she’d never _not_ get stuck over— had the noble’s stomach giving a slight zap.

“I mean it this time.”

The Du Couteau did an excellent job keeping her thoughts carefully filtered for the next quarter. At the last article, though, the Shuriman disappeared into the changing room long enough to make her start to think she'd been swallowed whole by it. If the noble hadn't been able to hear the blonde's struggle against cloth, she would have presumed her dead. Once she remembered that this last outfit was a corset top, however, the fight seemed understandable.

“Are you alive?” she spoke up when it didn‘t seem like Triana was ever going to emerge.

The summoner let out a deep sigh from behind the curtain. “Did you pick these things on purpose?” The exasperation in her tone was precious. “You enjoy my torment, don’t you.”

Cassiopeia was enjoying herself, alright, but it wasn’t torment that she was into. Well… it was more of a side advantage than anything else. “I’m not known for my merciful nature, darling.” she retorted. Then, a few seconds later, “…Do you need help?”

She regretted offering the second the words left her lips, but it was already too late. Triana’s ‘yes’ was immediate. Cassiopeia hovered before the thick fabric separating them, uncharacteristically unsure of herself.

“I’m coming in.” she warned, counted to three, then slipped inside.

Perhaps it wasn’t Triana who needed the warning.

The second Cassiopeia entered the enclosed space, everything came to a stop. The walls seemed narrower than they truly were, closing in. Her senses homed in on a single point; on everything about _her_. Her scent and how attractive it was, the way her hair contrasted the bronze of her skin. And above all…

_Oh._

The black ink dominating the entirety of Triana’s back.

Shurima’s ‘wings’ spread wide across her shoulders, the sun’s crest, at the middle, detailing the beginning of her spine. There were hieroglyphs just below it –a name?— while two thin columns of others reached all the way down to her waist. There, weaved into her skin was a different symbol: a sun with a snake coiled around it as though swallowing it whole –its body was jagged, asymmetric, reaching to her sides like a belt of thorns.

“You have a tattoo...?” Cassiopeia thought out loud in a single, loose breath.

Led by whim rather than will, her fingers were already pushing the ends of wheat-gold hair to the side to reveal more of the artwork. The second her cold claw made contact with warm, smooth skin, goosebumps bloomed on the summoner's neck.

Cassiopeia pulled her hand back as if she'd been burnt. 

_What am I doing?_ She scolded herself. Drawing a razor against the summoner’s skin like that without warning. It couldn’t have been comfortable. But Triana didn’t flinch nor inch away.

Cassiopeia’s curiosity got the better of her.

“Are those… names?” she asked. Ten could be counted on the columns, one in the middle, above them.

Garnet caught hazel in the thin, full-body mirror before Triana. The summoner’s muscles were tight, yet her expression was calm. “They are.” she answered. Cassiopeia wanted to ask more, though words were quickly becoming a difficult concept. “Names of people I’ve lost.”

Upon closer inspection, there was something… _odd_ , about the tattoo.

Green eyes widened upon the realization it wasn’t made through any modern means –the skin where the ink was inserted was _scarred_.

“This –did it hurt?”

Triana’s gaze lowered, turned, so she was looking at her over her shoulder, rather than the mirror. “That was the whole point.”

Cassiopeia felt the urge to draw the tips of her fingers, at least those that weren’t claws, down her back, to see if she would feel the ridges of the etching. A desire so insistent it nearly stole the breath from her lungs. It took considerable willpower to keep still, to not bend under this hot thing building in her mind, in her gut. To just not _touch_.

“Whose name is at the top?” she asked, quietly. Her voice threatened to waver under the heady atmosphere of the stall.

Triana’s gaze darkened like a sky about to rain. “… my mother’s.” she said.

Cassiopeia’s lips parted, but for once she wasn’t certain of what to say. She knew the pain of that loss, too well. She had felt it too strongly, at the age when she was at her most vulnerable –and it had _crushed_ her childhood. To find her mother assassinated, inside their own home. Inside her own study, her sanctuary, _poisoned_. Not bleeding… but not breathing, either.

“I… couldn’t save her.” Triana’s accent became thicker. Something dangerous creeped behind her irises –a deep-rooted darkness.

The noblewoman was reminded of the flaming building from her memory. The way Triana had dashed into the fire, desperate. Screaming. The way her rage _burned_ … just like Cassiopeia’s own.

Incinerating. Venomous.

“The one responsible… is he the one you killed?” Cassiopeia didn’t have to ask. Deep down, she already knew. The pieces of the puzzle were finally falling into place and the image they formed was one of loss. Of hatred. At the same time, it explained a lot about her.

Triana’s lip quirked, though in a sneer or a cruel smile, it was impossible to tell. “You are _so_ sharp.” she huffed, almost in wonder. “And yes, you were right.” The cold look returned to her eye. “I enjoyed it.”

Cassiopeia nodded. Thought of Zeke and all he took from her. The poetic justice of his end, how he’d screamed and writhed on the ground until his final breath. “...As did I.” she admitted.

Not all monsters were born.

Some, like her –like them?— were _made_.

…

The next stop was the hair salon.

Another acquaintance Cassiopeia had left behind along with her old life, Anne was the only one she used to trust with her hair. The woman, only a few years older than her, was easily the best in her field and tended to most of the Crimson Elite. Because of that, she knew far more secrets than one would think, at first glance.

“Lady Cassiopeia!” The bubbly brunette stepped past the counter to greet her. “It’s been such a long time.” Her smile was genuine yet underlined by sadness.

It had been three years and if not for the match against Demacia, it would have been far longer still. Cassiopeia didn’t want anybody associated with her past to so much as glance upon her hideous new form, so she’d cut all ties, erased past friends and allies alike from her life as she’d erased her very self.

“Ah, and our rising celebrity. You, foreign beauty, are the _talk_ of Noxus.” she winked at Triana, who smiled politely. Anne’s attention returned to the noble. “So! What are we doing today? Do you want your hair blonde, like the old times or—”

“ _No_.” Cassiopeia spoke quickly –a clean cut.

Anne didn’t deserve to be on the opposite side of her glare, but trauma didn’t much care for who it was that triggered her. The mere thought of anybody touching her brunette locks send chills down the Du Couteau’s spine. It felt like she was freezing and burning at the same time, like something unseen skittered along her the skin of her nape.

“We’re not here for me.” Cassiopeia rounded her jagged edges with a forced, charming smile. “Triana is a summoner of Noxus now and I want her to look the part.”

“Hmm. I see.” Anne scanned the mage from head to toe. “Right this way.” She motioned towards the well-lit atelier at the back, complete will all sorts of expensive hairdressing equipment and tools, everything neatly arranged. Hasty steps led her away, to gather the necessary materials for her new piece of art.

Cassiopeia caught a single glimpse of the rows of mirrors there and decided not to stress her control further. She lingered at the lobby. The look Triana gave her bordered on disappointed.

“You’re not coming?”

“Anne knows what she’s doing, there’s no need.” she replied.

A mischievous gleam flashed across bright, clear hazel. “So… you’re trusting me in the care of another woman?” 

Cassiopeia met her gaze.

It was only meant as a tease, of course, yet it held weight over her, stirred something raw and possessive in her. Absently, the tip of her tongue touched the edge of a fang. There were certain… implications to the words, which the noblewoman tried and failed to overlook.

Her mind filled with ideas of how to wipe that tiny, sexy smirk off the blonde’s face. There were a number of things she wanted to do to her –and she would have done them long ago, had the circumstances been different. The way she would have handled her, the Shuriman would forget other women existed in the world. 

A hot beat passed between them.

“Don’t tempt me, Triana.” Cassiopeia said, a warning that held no real bite.

Anne’s return signaled the end of whatever that little moment outside of time was. The blonde followed her, sat back quietly and let her do what she was best at. Garnet orbs shot subtle glances at them from their safe distance. Just to make sure everything was going smoothly, she told herself. It was one of her most obvious lies.

An hour passed.

Cassiopeia had been too busy with a phonecall to check on the stylist’s progress –until Anne was approaching her, practically beaming with excitement. The noblewoman was aware of Triana’s steps coming closer. She turned…

And the breath was stolen from her lungs.

It shouldn’t be possible for the blonde to get any more gorgeous. But there she was, with the ends of her hair trimmed in a way that made them look sharp, her eyeliner drawn into a double-wing which rendered her eyes intense enough to kill. Soft, curved lips reflected the lights in a dark gloss. Combined with the tight pants and blood-red shirt, the stylish summoner coat on top fitting like it was made just for her to wear…

Triana was _fatal_.

“I take it you approve?” Anne looked between them. “Tell me, how does she look?”

The blonde came to stand directly in front of her. Gave an almost sheepish smile. Cassiopeia reached out to smooth imaginary crinkles from her lapel. A heavier throb pulsed from her heart that reached all the way south, past her stomach.

“…like the Noxian dream.” she admitted. Perhaps the most honest thing she ever said.

That was the last drop of water that broke the dam… and she couldn’t deny it any longer. The attraction, the desire coiling in her veins, through the poison, since the moment they met. She didn’t like Triana because she liked her a bit too much. She’d wanted to drive her away because she wanted her close. She’d wanted her intimidated –no, terrified— so her own heart wouldn’t hold the slightest bit of hope of something more.

Even then, Cassiopeia didn’t simply appreciate what she saw –she wanted to _have_ it.

And wanting hurt.

…

It was late in the evening by the time they got back to the Institute.

The limousine could only take them so far. The road from where the vehicle had to turn around until the Champion dorms was a substantial one… and Triana, of course, was made to carry the bags.

Cassiopeia hid a subtle smirk behind her stoic façade at the blonde’s struggle. The articles they’d bought could easily amount to a full wardrobe and they weren’t the lightest of fabrics to begin with. Triana’s muscles strained through her tight clothes to keep up with her pace. The noblewoman didn’t slow down on purpose.

“This is cruel.” the Shuriman complained, half a step behind her.

“Oh, I’ve _never_ been called that, before.” Cassiopeia smirked over her shoulder.

The champion dorms eventually came into view. The Serpent’s Embrace slithered up the Noxian staircase, to the lobby, where she gave Triana several seconds to catch up. No other individuals were around, which was probably for the best. The less eyes that caught the summoner with her, the better.

Cassiopeia reached her suite’s door, slid the key-card in to unlock it… and halted. The plan had been for Triana to leave the bags there, for them to go their separate ways. She couldn’t say she was comfortable inviting the blonde in but for some reason it felt wrong to just drop her without so much as offering something to drink, first.

Technically, she’d been in Cassiopeia’s room before. The first time was supposed to be the worst. But in her case, the second didn’t seem any easier.

“Would you… like a drink?” she hovered at the open door, leaning slightly on the frame. For a second, Triana seemed as hesitant as she was. Just as she was about to open her mouth to reply, Cassiopeia beat her to it. “Come in.” she decided for both of them, moved out of the way.

Her heart was pounding. Her claws were itching to tear at something. Yet Cassiopeia held herself perfectly composed as she motioned for Triana to leave the bags on one side of the spacious room.

The Shuriman was uncharacteristically quiet. The noble appreciated how she didn’t let her eyes roam around the space, the covered mirrors or the curtains, currently drawn to the sides, normally meant to keep out the sun. Not even a subtle glance towards the slightly elevated level of the bed. 

Honestly…

It was kind of cute.

“Water, tea or wine?” she asked.

“Wine.” Triana replied. Cassiopeia had guessed it and already had the glass filled and waiting for her, cold as the beverage inside it. She carefully handed it to the blonde. “So.” Hazel orbs looked down at the crimson liquid. “I take it this wasn’t just a relaxing shopping spree.”

“Swain wants to see you this Friday.” Cassiopeia dropped the bomb on her. “I have to make sure you meet his standards.”

“And if I don’t?”

“I don’t want to know. Neither do you.” she replied. Triana took a cautious sip of her wine. She didn’t seem anxious, but the information must have riled her to some degree. “You’re not a Noxian, but you have to look like one. And hold yourself like one.”

“Which means…?”

“You have to be intimidating. Almost everybody in that room will try to undermine your value because you’re not one of us.” They would chew her _out_. And Cassiopeia knew Katarina and she could only protect her to a certain point.

A faint, enigmatic smirk crossed Triana’s dark-glossy lips. “I’m not intimidating?”

“I’m not exactly shaking in my tail over here.” Cassiopeia prodded at her pride, at a weak spot. It was a challenge; and if Triana could convince her she could do it, she would convince Swain, as well.

“Yes? Show me how it’s done, then.” Triana challenged back, eyes gleaming.

“You don’t know what you‘re asking for.” Cassiopeia shook her head.

“Did I stutter?”

The atmosphere in the room shifted. The noble’s tail coiled. _Nobody_ messed with her and got a free pass.

“You want me to scare the living lights out of you?” Her lip quirked into a sharp grin, enough for a fang to show. It was a rhetorical question, of course. Triana had already made her bed and she would lie in it. The champion had no intention of waiting for her answer.

One sudden spring of her body –and Cassiopeia’s hand, fingers and claws alike, wrapped around Triana’s pretty neck, _slammed_ her back on the counter. More speed than actual force, it was just enough to cause a rush of danger, a noise against the drawers, yet not hurt her waist as it crashed back onto the wooden surface. The heiress wondered when she’d gotten so confident in her self –if this was remotely safe.

Triana’s heart hammered in her chest. Its pulse, drumming against her fingers. Cassiopeia felt powerful; released. It was like letting _go_. She didn’t think the experience of overpowering the blonde would be so cathartic, but for the first time in years, she felt in absolute control.

Triana’s breathing was so well regulated she deserved an award for it. Her eyes studied her every move closely, but she knew better than to struggle in the viper’s grasp.

Cassiopeia leaned closer to her face. “You’re so quiet all of a sudden.” she spoke, squeezed just a tiny bit more. “I think I prefer you this way.” was whispered, a secret between them.

Hazel started to give way to black. The shift was downright captivating to witness. The noble could almost feel every shallow breath on her parted lips. With the object of her desires so close, her own mind was fogging fast. All reason for pushing Triana started to melt away as her focus turned to other things; like how solid the summoner’s shoulders felt, how _hot_ her body had grown against her own.

Cassiopeia was aching in her own right. She wanted more, she wanted friction. The need to rub up into Triana was almost overpowering her fast-melting will. Scales strained to lock herself in place.

Something inside her crumbled the moment the blonde’s hands came up to her lower back, holding her _there_ instead of pushing her away. The damage had already been done, she reasoned. What was one more nail to add to the coffin?

For a heartbeat, they stood a hair’s breadth apart.

She was unsure who leaned the last centimeter in, first. Their mouths were so close she could taste the wine and gloss on Triana’s, her bottom lip barely brushing against hers in a feather-light touch—

When.

The sound of hasty footsteps outside her door broke Cassiopeia out of her lust-induced trance. She sprung apart from Triana so suddenly she nearly got whiplash, just as the door’s handle turned—

Darkened hazel looked at her, confused, unsettled, for a moment...

Then two _very_ agitated assassins were walking inside.

Cassiopeia schooled her expression to absolute neutrality. She raised an eyebrow at her siblings, though inwardly she was cursing almost as bad as her sister. _Oh_ , _for_ fuck’s _sake, Katarina._

“Sorry, Triana.” Katarina said upon noticing the summoner, who thankfully had recovered almost as fast. “Family business.” She explained, her tone deadly serious.

“It‘s urgent.” Talon’s wild eyes locked with Cassiopeia’s.

“Well… I’ll see you around.” Triana said, avoiding eye-contact as she excused herself to the exit. Lime eyes tried very hard not to remain glued to her back as she left.

Cassiopeia didn’t want to feel disappointment. She told herself she didn’t, that it was beneath her. But it really felt like she had been having the most wonderful bath of her life in private hot springs… and then woke up in a freezer. 

The noblewoman took a deep breath while her siblings proceeded to explain the situation. She set her jaw, focused her mind and deleted everything else, although her pulse took a while to get under control.

Business first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost. They were aaaalmost there ;)
> 
> You know it's a serious let-down when Cassiopeia curses, people. But, yes, after seeing her Shuriman bae -*ahem*, beauty- all dressed up to the nines in her kingdom's colors, with her hair and makeup super sharp, not to mention finding out about the sexy tattoo on her entire back, even a woman like Cass feels her resolve crumble. I headcanon-ed our snake goddess to be bi with a strong preference for women... but let's be honest she's beyond gay af for Triana at this point. 
> 
> Thank you for your support!


	13. Chapter 13

**[Cassiopeia]**

She tried not to think about it.

Their lips had grazed; they’d both leaned in. Yet it seemed surreal, like another dream, like something that couldn’t exist in reality. Not her reality, the way it had shaped after her transformation. Cassiopeia could have sworn Triana wanted it as much as she did, all thirsty eyes and slack jaw under her touch.

But self-doubt quickly began to creep in. To poison the memory. Maybe, in her aroused haze, she’d misinterpreted something. Maybe it wasn’t her Triana wanted, but something else _from_ her.

That would certainly make more sense.

For how could someone who looked like the offspring of a god turn to look upon her cursed form with want? Triana could easily have _anybody_ that she wanted –and she certainly didn’t lack in self-assurance to be perfectly aware of it. Cassiopeia had her name going for her, but she fully believed that was _all_ she had left. Unless Triana had a serious kink for wealth and influence, nothing explained how her attraction could be true. 

Except… there were no signs of her ever seeking anything of the sort from their partnership. Cassiopeia never stopped studying her, observing every gesture and glance, not even in moments her own body betrayed her in their proximity. Her mind knew better than to succumb to desire, the tool she’d once used to make others submit to her every whim.

Which was what rendered Triana such an enigma.

Connections and people were unimportant to her. Money didn’t catch her eye. Fame seemed to matter only to a certain degree. Nothing made the Shuriman's gaze light up with genuine interest –except for when she was talking to her. 

In the end, Cassiopeia was thrown for a loop. What she saw contradicted _everything_ she believed she knew about people.

It felt like she would drive herself insane if she remained stuck over the matter any longer. So, the noblewoman did what she was best at –she lied, entered a renewed state of blissful denial, acted like the incident in her chambers never occurred at all. 

Whatever transpired between her and Triana had no place in her head, nor her life. It had no name and should remain that way until the deathtrap that was the match against Demacia was settled and well-left behind them.

Cassiopeia could not allow herself to lose focus. Every beat was crucial as they fast approached the finish line –and Triana was a distraction she couldn’t afford. A beautiful one… but the most beautiful roses often had the sharpest thorns. She couldn’t go and allow a cut when it mattered most.

The Du Couteau kept her distance. 

She didn’t call, text nor look for the blonde until it was nearly time for the Noxian meeting.

That morning, Cassiopeia was walking through the massive yard with Katarina, discreetly discussing their best course of action before the match. The younger sister was advising the assassin on what to say to the cameras, how to answer key questions, when her keen eye caught Renekton arguing with a summoner, under the shade of an old tree.

Through her superhuman hearing, she quickly gathered the tension stemmed from losing their latest match to Nasus. Renekton was roaring into the shivering man’s ear, something about ‘enduring such humiliation because of a puny human.’ Then he proceeded to boast, as he often did, about who he was, the great, immortal general who had brought his Empire countless victories.

“I am the glory of Shurima, the undefeated, the conqueror of a hundred lands! Get out of my sight, you unworthy little mage!”

Katarina’s gaze followed her own to the scene. The summoner was sent running for the hills… and Cassiopeia knew she couldn’t pass up the opportunity to ask Renekton the question that burned in her mind since she read the scroll about the Eleven Ghosts of Shurima.

She diverted her path, so it led them near the Ascended being without it being too obvious he was her destination.

“The poor boy nearly had a heart attack.” Cassiopeia commented when they were close enough to the growling warrior.

“Well deserved.” he spoke.

“I couldn’t help but notice all the battles you referred to;” Cassiopeia began, her voice painted in the colors of Noxus’ deadliest diplomat. Katarina gave her a curious look but didn’t interrupt. “And, weirdly enough, you never did mention conquering the Kaziat lands, even though many history books would claim that as one of your greatest achievements.” A strategic pause. “…why is that?”

Renekton’s brow-scales furrowed. A deep growl still reverberated from his chest like a warning. Katarina was positively on edge, fingers subtly positioned over hidden knives, but Cassiopeia’s senses detected no danger from him. There was anger, directed inwards, at his own self.

There was… confusion.

“I…” Renekton took an ominous step forward. “I do not remember much about the past, but I recall all my victories vividly.” he spoke. “Yet. For some reason I cannot remember anything about that battle.”

Garnet eyes widened. _Could it be that…_

“Kaziat was a godsdamned fortress. I… I!” Another growl. Katarina’s muscles, next to her, were coiled like a spring about to snap. “Why can’t I _remember_ it at all!”

Cassiopeia didn’t speak. The balance in his head was delicate –one wrong push could yield the opposite result of what she sought.

Eventually, Renekton, with a hand glued to his temple, stood to his full height. He closed right back up. It seemed he wasn’t willing to share any more of his blurry history. As he began walking away without another word, however… Cassiopeia caught the whispers mumbled under his breath.

“I took no part in that war. In fact, I think there was no war at all.” he hummed to himself. “No… by the time I got there… Kaziat had already surrendered.”

Cassiopeia’s lips parted, her breath frozen in her chest.

_So then, the scroll… it was all true?!_

“Hey, everything alright?” Katarina’s voice broke her out her thoughts. “You look like you just saw a ghost.”

Her sister would never know how close to the truth that statement was.

“In a way… I did.” Cassiopeia replied. “Not one. _Eleven_.”

Purposely forgotten in the yellowed pages of history.

…

_‘Hey. Everything okay?’_

_‘I know you said you prefer me quiet but it’s been too quiet the past two days._ _’_

_‘Cassiopeia.’_

Triana’s messages had sat there, on the front of her phone’s screen, for hours upon hours without reply. Cassiopeia typed things and deleted them before they could be sent, eventually deciding to go with the safe route: ‘ _I’m very busy_.’ It wasn’t a lie. It also wasn’t the whole truth.

The time of the meeting was fast approaching.

The noblewoman focused her attention on her siblings’ image. On what she wanted it to convey. Everything mattered and everything, right down to the placement of the smallest accessory, was a statement among Noxians. The silver ring she had Katarina wear around her neck once belonged to their father. The redhead didn’t want anything to do with it, but Cassiopeia convinced her it was necessary. Likewise, the pin decorating the vast black of Talon’s chest was hers –and it portrayed that the man was utterly devoted to them.

All three Du Coutaus had their house symbol as a pattern in a clearly visible spot of their clothes –the Blade Quadrant.

They arranged to meet their summoners outside the champion dorms.

Triana was the first to arrive, dressed to the nines in the clothes they’d picked together. Katarina’s and Talon’s duos, both up-and-rising Noxians recently promoted to the rank of Master, weren’t far behind her. 

“Shall we?” Talon cocked his head towards their destination.

“Go on ahead. We’ll be right behind you.” Cassiopeia said. Katarina caught her eye for a moment but turned around without saying anything.

Lime eyes watched them disappear into the darkness. They painted a good picture; Talon’s girl was lithe and pretty enough to stand by his side, perhaps a tad too manipulative and opportunistic, judging by the way she laughed and the sway of her hips, but she served her purpose well. Katarina’s summoner looked sturdy, strong and incredibly into her. He an arrogant ass who, at the absolute least, had the skill to back up most of his words, although Cassiopeia was convinced his inflated ego was a way to make up for his small… hidden assets. 

Victory would not depend on them by any means, but they could hold their weight –and that was the best she could have hoped for after their main partners were murdered.

“Look, I’m sorry—”

“Listen—”

Cassiopeia and Triana said at the exact same time. They both paused. Then the Shuriman took a slightly deeper breath. “Nothing good ever started by ‘listen’…” she grimaced.

“I have to warn you about this meeting before we head in.” the noble began. Triana’s forehead creased with lines. It clearly wasn’t what she thought they were going to discuss, yet Cassiopeia wasn’t going to talk about anything else.

“About what happened the other evening, though—”

“Nothing happened.” she cut her off before that particular can of worms could be opened.

Triana’s lips pressed into a line. It was one of the few times she didn’t wipe all emotion from her features fast enough. When she did, though, she was back to her charming self, not a sign of worry or frustration on her. Cassiopeia would never say it aloud, but she greatly appreciated the blonde’s lightning-fast compliance. She always caught on within a split second and she _never_ pushed.

“So… I take it even in all this black they still won’t like me?” The Shuriman shifted their subject to business. 

“It’s not that they won’t like _you_. It’s that Noxians always try to one-up the other and because you’re with us they will search for ways to get to you.” Cassiopeia explained. They began walking towards the others, with the Du Couteau giving pointers along the way. “When we enter, stay half a step behind me and to my left always. Make sure to never position ahead of me, or Katarina.”

“Follow you like a I’m on a leash –got it.”

“Pretty much.” Cassiopeia nodded. “Also, I want you look at everyone there like they aren’t worth your time. If you absolutely _have_ to answer something, act like my sister.” They already were alike, at times. It shouldn’t be hard.

“So... like an asshole.” Triana’s eye gleamed with mischief.

Cassiopeia couldn’t keep back a wry smirk. “Yes.”

The pair passed several corridors of the Institute’s main building, until, at the last one, they reunited with the rest of the Du Couteau entourage.

“One last thing;” Cassiopeia whispered to the blonde. “You may feel a little bit… objectified. It’s part of the game –think nothing of it.”

Triana’s reply was a curious little smirk. Katarina checked them all to make sure they were ready. Then she turned, crimson hair spilling over her back in the process and took the first determined step towards the wolves’ den.

The air was cold inside the Noxian meeting room.

The champions present had already began picking on each other, on the others' partners. Cassiopeia wasn’t certain who first dared challenge Elise and her handsome Challenger, but judging by the vein popping up on Darius’ forehead and the liquid smirk on her ruby lips, the winner of that round was clear.

They hadn’t even taken their seats, yet, when Draven pointed an axe at Katarina. She glared at him in a way that stated ‘keep doing that and lose an arm in a few seconds’.

“You brought your new girlfriend along to a _war_ meeting?” he jabbed, sharp teeth showing in his half-grin, half-sneer.

“I would reply… but I am too surprised you even know what a 'girlfriend' looks like.” Katarina shook her head, dismissive, like he wasn’t worth her time. Vladimir chuckled.

Draven's eye twitched, but he wasn't dissuaded just yet. “And you?” he asked Cassiopeia. “You mix business with pleasure?” The line was insinuating several things about the three of them, not entirely unheard of in Noxus, of course.

Sadly for him, he was barking up the wrong tree. Cassiopeia felt _absolutely_ no shame when it came to pleasure. She never had. “Only when I've discovered something _truly_ worthwhile.” the noblewoman dipped the words in the sultriest tone possible, dragging the claws of one hand suggestively down Triana's arm.

Draven’s eyes widened like saucers. Red tinted his ears. The room laughed at the display and finally, the Du Couteaus could sit down in relative peace. Other things were said, about Talon’s summoner, Singed’s human experiments, the latest rumor surrounding Vladimir and his ‘blood orgies’.

All voices were silenced when Swain entered the chamber.

His steps carried a new wave of cold, of unquestionable authority. He took his time moving to the helm of the long rectangle table, that blasted demon-bird eternally perched on his shoulder. Two Challengers trailed behind him like loyal guarddogs.

 _...Why two?_ Cassiopeia’s gaze narrowed suspiciously. 

She recognized them both; one was Swain’s main partner, nicknamed ‘Raven’. The other was known as ‘Phage’, a rising star in the mid lane even among Challengers, whose personality, unlike his looks, left a lot to be desired. Cassiopeia had considered him as an option for his sheer, raw power… but with his anger issues and superiority complex, not to mention his open disrespect for women, he wasn’t exactly partner material for their House.

Swain did not sit down. Instead, he lingered close to the far wall, so anyone who wanted to reach him would have to cross a certain distance from the table. Cassiopeia wondered what the plan was for that. Raven stood on the Master Tactician’s right side, while Phage occupied the space at his left.

“Welcome, Noxians.” Swain spoke coolly. “We all know why we have gathered here tonight and time is of the essence. Let us be brief. I wish the summoners here to come to me… and give me their hand.”

The four-eyed crow on him turned his gaze to Cassiopeia. Her blood froze in her veins. That thing made her want to run away and never look back, the sense of danger she got from it overwhelming.

“My companion will tell me all I need to know about your chosen partners. Far easier and more effective than any interview, correct?” Swain smirked.

Katarina’s jaw set tightly. Sweat built at the back of Cassiopeia’s neck. She’d prepared Triana for many things, but having her very essence scanned by a demon wasn’t among them.

“Who shall go first?” he asked.

Darius’ partner, the eldest son of the esteemed House of Nayzan, stood. He approached Swain without faltering for even a heartbeat. Cassiopeia could tell he had as much faith in himself as Darius did in him, from the way he offered his hand. He also had nothing to hide.

“Very good.” Swain nodded, seemingly pleased. “Next.”

Elise gave a gentle pat on her partner’s defined shoulder. He stood like a gentleman, made his way over to the demon. He was so calm and unafraid it was bordering on unnatural. Cassiopeia caught the Spider Queen’s eye –and immediately she was certain either she or Leblanc did something to make his nerves perfectly still… and blind to danger.

So it went, until there was nobody else left except… Triana.

Cassiopeia willed her heartbeat calm. The blonde didn’t seem fazed by the four crimson eyes focused on her as she approached the General. All other summoners until that point had given their dominant hand. It just so happened to be their right. Triana was also right-handed… but she gave her left.

Either the relativity of time hit Cassiopeia with the entirety of its power, making moments seem like ages, or Swain held the Shuriman’s hand for far longer than he had the others’. The crow even leaned closer, as if to give Triana a better look.

 _Why._ Cassiopeia wondered. Her throat felt dry. Her expression was perfectly cool, but her nerves were a different story.

“I see.” Swain said, lowering Triana’s hand. “Your power is very promising. But it troubles me that you hail from Shurima.”

_Shit._

“Does it matter if she’s got strength enough to surpass any of our own?” Katarina spoke up. “She didn’t just catch my eye for her pretty face.”

“Of course. However…” Swain turned to the rest of the champions. “What do you all think? Does it matter?”

“It doesn’t look good for a Shuriman to represent us in one of Noxus’ most crucial matches.” Darius stated.

“It’s all about what’s in one’s blood.” Draven said.

“Funny you should say that, when yours is made out of plasma and solid stupidity.” Katarina sniped.

“You _wre_ —!”

“This is _not_ the time to argue.” Vladimir cut in. “It is all the same to me as long as we win.”

“Indeed.” Leblanc agreed.

“Noxian, non-Noxian, the end justifies the means.” Elise said.

In the end, the room was split in two, as it most often was. It all came down to alliances rather than actual opinions… and it was always clear the deciding voice was that of Swain.

The man cast Triana another deeply scrutinizing look.

“Cassiopeia.” he said. “Do you vouch for her?”

“I do.” she spoke with utmost certainty and steadiness.

“Very rarely do you think so highly of anyone. I can see it in your eyes.” Swain commented.

 _Exactly how much does he see…?_ Cassiopeia worried. Anxiety rose within her like the tides on a full moon. She was the one who normally put others under the magnifying lens of her eyes to dissect them, until she found what she wanted. But right there…his gaze cut into her.

“You look like a Noxian.” he said to Triana. “You stand like a Noxian.” Cassiopeia’s claws pressed together, one step away from scratching the table. “But.” Swain said. “I am not convinced your essence _is_ that of a Noxian. Perhaps if we had tested you in another major match, before…” The ceiling felt like it was cracking and falling on top of the youngest Du Couteau, in that moment. “As it stands, I would rather have Phage, here, be at Cassiopeia’s side. Our middle lane is our most vital spot. It is the heart that pumps blood to all the organs.”

_Oh gods, no…_

Talon cast her a _look_. But there was nothing Cassiopeia could say to salvage the situation.

Triana nodded in understanding. Turned, to walk back to their side.

Halfway through, however… she stopped.

“Is there a problem?” Swain asked, a peculiar look in his eye.

“Actually…” Triana said. “ _Yes_.” Every single gaze in the room snapped to her.

“Listen, _Shurima_.” Phage took an ominous step forward. “I know they don’t teach you manners in the desert, but here, when the General talks, you keep your mouth _shut_.”

“He asked me a question.” Triana replied calmly, almost detached from the situation. “I do think there is a problem. With the Noxian team’s composition.” she said. “In fact… you’re it.”

Katarina’s eyes flew wide. Cassiopeia was positive she wasn’t breathing. Neither of them was.

“Oh, _my_!” Elise laughed, leaning forward in her seat.

“The _fuck_ did you say…?” Phage demanded, face torn between mock and disbelief.

“Did I stutter?” Triana said, perfectly clear and cool. “But don’t worry, the fix is easy. All you have to do is resign from your position as Cassiopeia’s partner –and as the backup option, I will gladly take over.” she spoke, charming as a dream, as though suggesting they all go out for a walk in the park.

“All that sun must have burned your brain!” he laughed, but Cassiopeia could tell he was unnerved by her endless calm.

“Your reputation won’t take a hit. It can be an accident.” Triana continued. “How unfortunate; that you broke your arm just before the game.” she then made a point of checking her watch. “I’ll give you ten seconds to decide.”

That was the match thrown in gasoline.

“I will _kill_ you!” Phage roared. His magic flared, oppressive as a heat wave in the heart of summer. His arm flashed up, poised like a claw aimed for her neck. If that hit connected, Cassiopeia could tell it would crush her vocal cords from the force of it.

Her claws dug into the table, arms shaking from the tension to keep her body still. Katarina was about to move, to protect the mage, but Cassiopeia gripped her elbow, lightning-fast. They could _not_ be seen helping her. Triana made her choice to play with fire by herself –and she had to face the consequences by herself.

Only—

At first, the Shuriman didn’t seem like she was going to move.

Then— the next second she was past Phage’s arm, like it had gone straight through her. Like… she was a ghost.

One swift move and the hunky man’s legs were kicked out from underneath him. As the Challenger fell forward, before he had even hit the ground, Triana once again used that weird ‘blink’ to get behind him, his hands trapped in her grasp. The heel of her boot pressed at a key point on his back.

Cassiopeia’s eyes widened. Not even she had fully caught that move…

Which shouldn’t be _possible_ , when her enhanced sight could follow even Katarina’s shunpo. 

Phage roared like a crazed beast, but he couldn’t get out of the hold. Triana pressed further, using pain to immobilize him –Cassiopeia could hear his joints creaking, straining to their limit.

“Wrong choice.” she said. The boundless, echoing cold of her voice was mirrored by her eyes. Gone was the girl whose smile could charm even the sun. The one who stood in her place was unrecognizable.

Hazel looked up into garnet.

Cassiopeia made the subtlest nod. She had seen it before, glimpses of it, of the dark side hidden inside the blonde. She knew without a single doubt that Triana could be–

 _Ruthless_.

A sickening crack echoed in the stillness of the meeting room.

The gasps of the room were drowned out by Phage’s agonizing scream.

 _What precision_. Cassiopeia thought. Triana had dislocated both his shoulders at the same time, without fracturing anything, without leaving permanent damage.

The summoner turned towards Swain with the same impassive expression. And for the first time in what felt like forever… his lips broke into a thoroughly impressed smile. The rest of the chamber wasn’t even drawing breath.

“Summoner Triana.” He said, opening his arms. “What a fine addition to the Noxian family!” He even _laughed_. “You always know how to pick them, Cassiopeia. I expect great things from you!”

As the meeting came to an end, Katarina’s eyes shifted to hers.

 _‘What the fuck just happened?’_ Her gaze was asking.

Cassiopeia had no answer to that.

…

As soon as they were out of the meeting room, Cassiopeia grabbed Triana’s wrist and pulled her to a different direction from her siblings and their summoners. She didn’t want any questions asked, especially where the walls had ears within the Institute. The blonde didn’t speak, merely followed her lead until they were well out of sight, lost in the darkness of the massive yard.

When they came to a stop, she fixed Triana with a deadly glare.

“You would have done the same.” the blonde countered casually.

“I would have put him out of commission _after_ the meeting.”

“I mean… that was my initial plan, too.” Triana huffed. Paused.

“But?” Cassiopeia demanded.

“His disrespect got to my nerves.” the Shuriman replied. “There are a lot of things I don’t care about and just as many I can walk past and entirely overlook. But.” The deadly gleam returned to her eye. “I do _not_ allow those who stand below me to think themselves victorious against me.”

The noblewoman studied her fatally beautiful features.

“If you want to know the most important thing about me, it’s that I _can't_ tolerate defeat.” Triana said.

Cassiopeia had to admit she was wrong on her initial assessment of the Shuriman. She didn’t stay away from people, shrug off their advances and keep to her own devices out of plain disinterest. It ran much deeper than that. In truth, Triana didn’t spare most individuals a glance because she considered them _unworthy_ of her attention.

She wasn’t the warm girl whose smile could charm the sun into rising and setting. That was just the side of her that _she_ got to see. Cassiopeia had her suspicions from the very beginning, but it was that night she knew it as she knew the sky was blue;

For someone who wore the face of an angel… Triana could just as easily turn into a _devil_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nothing more heartbreaking than almost kissing your crush and having them say 'nothing happened' but Triana is taking this one like a champ. A darling champ for Cass, a demon for those who oppose her. Here we see some of Triana's ...issues, which have stayed with her since ancient times and only got worse in the passing of centuries. Our girl cannot stand defeat, to the point she is willing to do *anything* to anyone in order to be victorious. 
> 
> Yes, anything. 
> 
> On another note, work is being a bitchhhh. But at least I was able to stay true to my update schedule for now. Hope you enjoy! :)


	14. Chapter 14

**[Cassiopeia]**

The two weeks following the Noxian meeting were downright chaotic.

All champions and their summoners were struggling to keep up with the hectic schedule, from endless hours of practice games to promotional photoshoots, to unending rows of interviews. Cassiopeia had the added weight of keeping tabs on their opponents pressing on her shoulders, which resulted in zero free time and no space in her mind for anything other than strict business.

Perhaps that part was for the best.

Meanwhile, the Demacian side was using its own tactics to earn the world’s favor, portraying itself as a saint fighting back against Noxus’ imperialistic corruption. The enemy champions had done their own digging and although it was nowhere near as thorough as Cassiopeia’s, they still uncovered dirt they could throw at the cameras to enforce their position. It was a daily battle before the deciding war.

Even walking through the League grounds, one would notice the electrifying tension lingering in the air. A sort of buzz reverberating across the atmosphere, signaling the coming of a storm. Until…

It was time.

Until Cassiopeia and her siblings were standing underneath the giant, diamond-encrusted arch of the Grand Arena, peering straight into the elevation or destruction of their House’s name. Whatever awaited them at the end of the night, the universe didn’t ask if they were ready to face it. It simply demanded they did.

At the first step inside, staff immediately rushed to escort them to their ateliers, where their chosen stylist awaited to perfect their image. Cassiopeia had already organized how everything would be, right down to the last detail of their makeup.

She took a deep breath before the door with her name-tag on it. Opened it. She still froze at the sight of the large mirror on the opposite end. A reflection, a truth she’d avoided for years stared back at her at one of the most vulnerable nights of her life.

For a moment, Cassiopeia was on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

Her arms shook –she averted her gaze on instinct. Tell-tale pinpricks travelled up her tail, through her spine and ended on the base of her neck. Delicate hands curled into tight fists. _Stay in control._

_You can’t avoid it any longer._

Garnet eyes opened again, slowly. Hesitant, they shifted back to the glass, meeting those of a familiar stranger. Her heart was beating erratically in her chest, a sick feeling was rising in her stomach, but Cassiopeia forced herself to stay still as a statue. To _look_.

Then, she started removing her top in favor of the designer, sleeveless black tunic waiting for her, her bracelets for the thin leather gauntlets beside it. A sleek, spiked pauldron was secured over her right shoulder, with clasps reaching across her chest and wrapping around her arm. Finally, a crimson belt with a dark, skirt-like design attached to it was fastened around her waist. The buckle was her family’s crest in striking silver, the only light to a figure bathed in darkness.

Those were the easy part.

The tail came next –and Cassiopeia had to follow Elise’s instructions very closely, lest she end up with a whole different color in the cloaking spell than the one she wanted. A small slip of paper was removed from her previous outfits’ pocket, bearing a symbol glowing with Leblanc’s magic. The noblewoman took another breath and pressed it to the side of her tail.

“Black, vermillion.” she spoke, while keeping the thought firmly in her head that she granted the foreign magic permission to alter her appearance. Soon, the symbol evaporated from the paper and new color bloomed over her scales. Pitch-dark as a veil of shadows, separated only by blood-tinted patterns.

All that remained… was her hair. 

There, Cassiopeia couldn’t hold her reflection’s gaze any longer. She completely turned the other way as she removed the thin helmet keeping her wavy locks mostly hidden from view, tried not to shudder as they freely tumbled down her back. Shaping her hair into more defined curls with the curling iron was utter physiological torture, yet she had no other choice. It was imperative to look immaculate, even if she felt anything but.

The noblewoman only breathed when it was all over. The new headpiece she secured on her head was shaped like a crown and hid _far_ too little for comfort. She tried not to think about it as she exited the small room like she was being chased.

Well. In a way she was.

Haunted, by her own ghost.

Cassiopeia searched high and low to find Triana.

She was the first person to arrive, as the staff had informed her, so Anne was quickly done preparing her. But she wasn’t in the waiting chamber or at the corridor leading to the stage, nor with the other summoners. Thankfully, her scent was distinct and easy to track. Cassiopeia followed it up a set of stairs to a lounge she didn’t even know existed until that point.

As soon as she stepped into it, a whole world was laid bare before her.

The front walls were bulletproof, panelled glass, not allowing view from the outside in, but not restricting anything from the other way around. The only thing that was filtered out was the noise from the massive arena below, which, for once, not even Cassiopeia’s senses could pick up.

Everything was glistening lights, waving signs and thousands upon thousands of people cheering… all muted. In front of the soundless background of shapes and floodlights, stood a dark silhouette, almost a shadow. She would be one if her hair wasn’t causing a soft, golden bloom around her head, akin to a dimmed halo.

There was something… incredibly fitting, about Triana standing there –where she belonged— atop the world. Something in her shoulders, the set of her jaw, which made Cassiopeia think of queens and emperors, standing high above their subjects.

“Triana.” Cassiopeia’s voice broke the silence.

The Shuriman turned around, hazel eyes going a tad wider. “Uh –wow.” she said.

The noblewoman was certain that was her line, but she was too busy taking in the image of her summoner decked out in Noxian colors, belts and patterns, to say it. Instead, a small smirk tugged at the corner of her lips. “How eloquent.” she teased with a faux-dry tone.

“You’re stunning.” Triana stated.

“Much better.” Cassiopeia nodded, slithering closer to her. There was just one thing left to complete Triana’s image… and the noble presented it to her, rich silver and dangling from a claw. “I wanted to give you this myself.” was spoken quietly.

“Your House crest.”

“The Blade Quadrant, yes. It was a symbol engraved in Noxian history far before us Du Couteaus were even a clan.” Cassiopeia began. “About two thousand years ago, the first assassins’ guild was formed in Noxus. It is said many of the techniques they used hailed from Shurima.” Triana’s eyes studied her intensely. “The guild leader –and later Head of the House— was to raise three children and make them the sharpest of Noxus’ blades, in whatever way they saw fit. Hence the three parallel, united swords, tied to the vertical one.”

“I see.” Triana received the pendant. “So… you, Katarina and Talon.”

“My father was a stickler for tradition.”

And that was precisely the reason Katarina rejected everything about it. ‘Tradition’ took her childhood away from her –and in that aspect, Cassiopeia had it far easier than she did. Their mother had taken over the younger sister’s education, while their father had taken over the elder’s. She didn’t know what Katarina’s training–conditioning— consisted of, but perhaps she didn’t _want_ to know.

“So was mine.” Triana said. “When it suited him.” her tone darkened at the end, like the sky before a downpour. It always did when her father was involved. One day, Cassiopeia would make her talk about the clearly strenuous relationship there.

But right then… a member of the staff interrupted whatever it was she was about to ask.

“Lady Cassiopeia, summoner Triana. The match is about to begin and you’re called for the line-up.”

Garnet and hazel met.

_This is it._

Demacia’s theme washed over the arena first.

Locked behind the curtain separating the corridor from the stage, Cassiopeia couldn’t see their entrance, but she could hear their reception from the crowd. _Gods, this is deafening._ Her teeth clicked together tightly. All that noise pounding away at her eardrums was driving her insane.

Triana looked at her and offered her arm. It wasn’t the smartest move for someone wanting to preserve their limbs, but Cassiopeia, in a moment of weakness, drowning in a sea of sounds, took it. It all seemed… slightly more bearable, with the anchor she was holding on to. Clawed fingers remained loose until she trusted herself enough to curl them just a tad tighter around the blonde’s elbow.

“Get ready.” the coordinator said from the side. “Curtain opens in three… two…” 

The Noxian theme blared across the arena.

One by one, champions and summoners walked forward in pairs, across the bridge leading to the main stage. Flames came to life on either side as they passed, smoke and red lights filled the tension-thick air. The fans went crazy upon their entrance, screaming at the top of their lungs, leaping up from their seats.

Cassiopeia wasn’t breathing to avoid having a panic attack.

Her gaze remained locked straight ahead, counting meters until the teleporting runes, but she still noticed the champions gathered at the VIP space, at the upper balcony adjacent to the stage. Several sets of eyes were looking down, some clearly on their side, some against them, some merely curious of the night’s outcome.

The scariest part came the moment she had to let go of the summoner’s arm to step onto the teleporting platform. That instance where it all came crashing down, sounds and smells and sights, with nothing to shield her from the dizzying onslaught.

It was hell…

Until, a bright light later, they established their telepathic connection in the Fields of Justice.

Katarina was the first person she saw when she opened her eyes at the fountain base. They’d had a whole unspoken conversation by the time the restrictive barriers were down and they could move.

Hard choices would have to be made during the match. Leaving the other to die, even causing it, at certain fights, for the good of the team was one of them. It wouldn’t be easy, but it never was.

_Victory over blood._

…

At the beginning of the game, everything was going great. Darius drew first blood, they were ahead in gold and minions.

And after the ten-minute mark…

It all went to _shit_.

Jarvan’s counter-gank at the bottom lane destroyed both Draven and Swain. It fed Quinn kills she should never be allowed to have, on top of opening the path to the tower-shredding power of the mountain drake. Elise and Talon made their way to the pit to stop them, while Katarina and Cassiopeia doubled down on their efforts to keep Galio contained.

Garen was a different story. Whether it was a miscommunication between their summoners or just a lucky shot, his teleport went unnoticed until it was far too late. Elise stole the dragon –but he got a double kill.

When he returned up top, he and Fiora tore Darius apart. Meanwhile, Cassiopeia was locked down in her lane by Galio. She couldn’t move or she would lose her tower in a heartbeat, she couldn’t be missing for more than a couple of seconds because letting him roam was a nightmare scenario for their team. She was forced to passively watch while the stakes tilted in Demacia’s favor, unable to do anything about it.

It was endlessly _frustrating_. 

Every kill they got was answered by two more from their enemies. With seven instead of five people on every team, there was too much happening to even keep _track_ of.

Time became an enemy. It was getting clearer by the minute their damage was falling off against the tanks of the opposing side. With no kills and one death to her name, Cassiopeia could barely scratch Galio. Meanwhile, his ultimate had secured him enough assists to have a steady lead on her. Every punch he threw hurt more and more. Triana had to pull her back early just to save her life. But her retreat meant only one thing…

It was the Demacians’ opportunity to take the Baron.

That was the deciding point. That was the real war.

 _“We can’t let them have it!”_ Cassiopeia heard Triana hiss. Tensions were high between the summoners.

Everybody rushed into the river. At first, it was a battle of wards, a struggle for vision control. They won in that aspect, due to Swain’s strategic placement and movements. Both teams danced back and forth, trading light jabs around the hulking monstrosity that was Baron Nashor.

And out of nowhere, Galio _flashed_ into their center.

The seconds his stun held seemed like an eternity. Cassiopeia already knew what was going to happen next. And it was hell. Like angry waves wrecking everything on the shore, the enemies tore them apart. There was barely any time for retaliation as a too-well-timed punch from Jarvan made sure her ultimate didn’t even go off. The youngest Du Couteau smelled, rather than saw, blood. First her sister’s. Then her brother’s.

Then her own.

A greatsword ran her _clean_ through the gut. Bolts were nailing her broken tail on the ground. Cassiopeia couldn’t move. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t scream. She was suffering, in agony and humiliation, until Fiora’s rapier slashed at her throat and the world faded to black.

They were aced.

And deep down they all knew… there was no coming back from that.

For the first time in forever, Cassiopeia’s bond with Triana _shook_. The pressure was closing in, rising, rending them apart. Her pain became the blonde’s pain and it left her reeling, gasping for air.

Cassiopeia could not think clearly. All she saw when she tried to clear her mind, gather her bearings, was crushing _defeat_. On the way back to the mid lane, she felt numb. Blind. Weak.

“Shake it off, we need to _go_!” Elise yelled from the river. Another fight was taking place at the Infernal dragon’s pit. There was no second of rest. Her ultimate was needed and this time it had to be unleashed.

Except. She no longer believed that could turn the tide of battle.

Cassiopeia joined her teammate, uncertain. She looked towards the dragon. Then cast her gaze around the rest of the map. Their minions were beating on the opposite side’s tier two turret at the top. They could leave the dragon and capitalize on that, but she didn’t have the confidence to voice the thought. For once, everything in her head was a muddled mess. She couldn’t see a right call. She was too afraid to make one.

She went with the others’ decision to fight… and just as she had predicted, her petrifying gaze could only do so much. It stunned and slowed people, certainly, but Garen and Jarvan still rushed her.

A severe punch was blocked by her tail, the scales there cracking like an egg. There was no way to avoid the elbow that came from the opposite side, however. The impact _crackled_ across her jaw and temple. Cassiopeia’s head was thrown back, the whole world tilted on its axis. She was distantly aware of two blades coming down for her neck, while Katarina shouted her name somewhere in the background—

“ _Cass_!”

Triana activated _Zhonya’s Hourglass_ to save her. A barrier of gold shrouded the noblewoman’s beaten form, giving a brief respite from the abuse.

The two tanks turned their attention to the rest of the Noxian team. Lux stunned and killed Talon before he could get to her –and that was the moment Cassiopeia knew they couldn’t accomplish _shit_.

Just as her sister was about to leap at the luminous mage, led by murderous rage and a deep thirst for revenge, all while Elise’s spider form was getting torn limb from limb trying to smite the dragon…

Cassiopeia grabbed Katarina’s arm.

Wild green eyes turned to her.

“What—” Before she could say anything, the younger sister _pulled_. With her superior strength, even through Katarina’s struggling, she dragged her away from the fight. “What are you doing!”

_You’ll just die along with them. There’s no point to this._

“Cass! They killed our brother, what the _fuck_ are you _doing_!”

_We can’t._

Triana was too silent in her mind. She’d arrived to the same harrowing conclusion.

“Cass!—”

“We can’t win.”

It was merely a whisper, but it held all the gravity of a scream. Katarina’s voice died in her throat. Cassiopeia averted her gaze. Her bleeding head felt too heavy to even keep up, so she lowered it. Appearances didn’t matter if the Elite were to destroy them after the match.

A crimson river steadily flowed from her temple. Blood dripped down her eyelid, over her cheek and down her chin. Droplets hit the ground and scattered into tiny red dots. She was just _exhausted_. Physically. Mentally. She had given everything to win and it wasn’t _enough_.

_Is it over…?_

The infernal dragon’s soul screeched as it reshaped the map into an inferno. So fitting it was nothing short of an irony. Cassiopeia could only see red. Blood. Fire. Her summoner was a million miles away, lost among her own demons. Once more she was trapped, alone, in a flaming _hell_.

Katarina was saying something, her lips were moving, but Cassiopeia couldn’t hear her over the ringing of her own ears. She brought a clawed hand to her face to hide it from the world, from her sister, from light itself.

_Once again…_

_Everything burns._

The mental line connecting her and Triana cracked. She could see it, like a physical object, in the back of her mind. She could see the web of little fractures grow, until they were covering its entirety. Emotions bled from them, fear and _failure_ and a million other things threatening to sweep them under.

One part of the ‘walls’ collapsed, and Cassiopeia could see the building up in flames from Triana’s memory, where she lost her mother. She didn’t know what the blonde was seeing from her end. She didn’t want to. The tomb of emperors came to mind, as well as everything that led her to it, starting from her own mother’s assassination. Starting from the same feeling she was experiencing right there. Of being so _powerless_.

Helpless.

 _‘I am… going to lose?’_ was their shared thought.

Cassiopeia then saw her past self, wandering the empty stairways of her psyche once more. The girl everybody admired in Noxus. The one who always excelled, who used to have all the answers. Who fell from grace.

 _“Why am I seeing her now?”_ Despite everything she went through, despite her own trying to bury her, that part of her still lingered.

 _“…Yourself?”_ Triana asked.

 _“That’s not who I am anymore.”_ she replied, sharp and cutting. She suddenly wanted the summoner out of her head even if it meant disconnecting her entirely.

Until Triana spoke up next.

_“…Why not? I don’t see a difference.”_

Silence reigned supreme in their bond.

Did she really not _see_ a difference, though?

Cassiopeia saw that difference _every_ day. It was that very thing that drove her mad, that had her yearning to cut at her own skin with her claws. To _die_. She saw it in her sleep, in glass, in every waking moment she dared glance at her hands or below her waist. She hated everything about the circumstances that caused it and above all she hated herself. 

_…But. Despite my attempts to get rid of you, you’re still here._

For the longest time, she had thought of it as torment. It took that night to finally see things differently. To see her past self as a survivor. Through crushing grief and hardships, head-deep in secrets, plots and betrayals… even disfigured and scorched by poison, she remained. She was someone who had never—

Ever.

Lost.

_Is …that right? That we still are the same person? I’ve denied it for so long so I could move forward… yet I don’t think I want to, anymore. I can’t avoid my own reflection forever._

_I_ am _Cassiopeia Du Couteau._ I _am the Crown Jewel of Noxus._

_“Remember what you told me when we arm-wrestled? When someone thinks they’ve already won…”_

_“That’s when they stand at their most vulnerable.”_

…

Cassiopeia made Talon the instrument of her masterplan.

He could travel the map the fastest, with the aid of his items and abilities. He also had a mean poker face that rendered him the right person for the job.

Nobody, in the commotion that followed, had noticed he’d taken a quick tour around the map, all the way to the enemy base and left two key wards at the bushes just outside it. By the time he returned, the Demacians were barrelling down the middle lane, ready to end the match and claim their sweet victory. 

“Where the fuck were you, farming at a time like this?!” Katarina hissed at him.

Talon gave her a nonchalant look. “Katarina.” A crimson eyebrow lifted. “I need you to do your thing when the enemies storm this place.”

“My… thing.”

“Your ‘being annoying’ thing.” Cassiopeia could only inwardly huff at her siblings’ level of communication. The two assassins merely stared at each other. Katarina’s scarred eye narrowed. Talon let out a sigh. “Just trust Cassiopeia, alright?”

The redhead did not seem entirely convinced. But the Demacian team was already barging into their base… so Katarina did what she was best at. She baited Lux into using her stun, which she avoided with a _shunpo_ that blinked her to the bottom inhibitor. The redhead casually leaned against it, as though they weren’t a hair’s breadth from defeat.

“I love how you get all red and flustered when you miss that.” she said with her ladykiller charm. “Barbie.”

“Stop that!” Lux was very reminiscent of a growling puppy as she grit the words out. Meanwhile, the fight had already broken out at the middle inhibitor.

“Funny; that’s not what you were saying last night.” Katarina’s voice came over the clashing of blades. Garen’s ears perked up at that. His head snapped at her direction.

“What?” Lux asked.

“What!” Garen demanded at the same time.

“Oh, what, you didn’t know your sister is into some super kinky shit?” Katarina asked. “It’s no surprise pretty-boy Ezreal couldn’t deliver.” she laughed. “I have to admit, there’s something oddly poetic about Demacia getting _fucked_ by Noxus.”

Lux’s face went red. Her brother’s, too, for a different reason.

“Don’t let her get to you now, guys, _focus_!” Fiora shouted from the back, but Elise collapsed on her before she had a chance to break the redhead’s spell. Cassiopeia waited for the perfect opportunity to slither out of view. Further and further away… at the shop, where she changed her Void Staff for a Lich Bane, her Liandry’s mask for a Nashor’s Tooth and her Morello tome for a Guinshoo’s rageblade.

“What did you say about my sister you damn Noxian—!” Garen took a menacing step towards Katarina.

Cassiopeia channelled the teleport spell only when she was certain all eyes were averted from her.

“I said, your _slut_ sister _begged_ for it—!”

Whatever Katarina was saying next was drowned out by Garen’s battle cry, as he leaped at her with his giant sword. All hell broke loose… before Cassiopeia’s surroundings changed.

The enemy base was within sight. _Only an inhibitor and the Nexus towers to go._

Claws immediately got to work, beating furiously at the constructs. The inhibitor fell instantly, but nobody noticed. Triana informed her that her team was doing everything in their power to keep their opponents under heavy crowd control.

It was a base race. 

Quinn was wrecking everything apart at the Noxian side… but Cassiopeia was confident none of them had noticed her new items and the speed at which she was melting down the towers before her. Garen was too busy trying to kill Katarina to hit the Noxian Nexus…

Fiora was the only one to realize what was happening and worry enough to do something about it –but her recall got interrupted by Elise _twice_. The Spider Queen’s cocoon then stunned Quinn just enough to buy Cassiopeia another millisecond...

And.

_Crash!_

The sound of a Nexus _shattering_ reverberated across the entirety of the Rift. It travelled through the molecules of air, buzzed through every individual leaf and rattled every pebble along the riverline. Cassiopeia’s chest heaved. She checked twice just to make sure—

The Noxian Nexus was one attack away from breaking. The one in front of her, however, was lying there…

In _pieces_.

Triana’s laugh echoed in her ears.

Cassiopeia threw her head back, overcome by cathartic relief and bone-deep satisfaction.

“ _I_. Win.”

…

The crowd was cheering so loud the whole arena felt like it was shaking.

The dome itself threatened to crack from the cacophony, just like Cassiopeia’s sensitive eardrums, but for once she couldn’t care less. The pain only made it more real, solidified the fact that they were victorious. Noxus’ borders expanded thanks to the Du Couteaus –and nobody in the Crimson Elite would forget that anytime soon.

Garnet eyes immediately searched the stage for a blonde head. Triana wasn’t difficult to find, in the middle of their team, lit like a gem by the spotlight and by the proud, congratulating smiles of the Noxian champions.

“Get the fuck off our stage!” Katarina’s voice – _of course_ — reached her ears over the chaos.

Her sister was very busy flipping the Demacian team off, while they were keeping Garen back from rushing for her right there. The defeated, as was customary, took the ‘walk of shame’ backstage, while the victors reigned supreme in the arena lit in their colors. 

The redhead turned around as soon as they were out of sight, _shunpo_ ing before Triana and lifting her into the air with her arms around her waist. One wouldn’t think it was possible for the audience to get any louder, but they somehow managed it.

Cassiopeia was the last to approach the Shuriman.

Sounds felt quieter, in her orbit. The faces around them blurred into insignificance. Their gazes locked and Triana gently shook her hand. Her touch lingered a fraction longer than it should –without thinking it through, in a rare spontaneous beat, the noblewoman tugged her into a brief hug.

 _Thank you_ , she meant to say. Words she was taught a Du Couteau wasn’t to speak, merely convey. There were too many things to thank Triana for. For her unwavering faith in her, that Cassiopeia never earned nor was under any illusion she deserved. For her strength. For being her anchor.

For helping her find herself. 

The host of the game, as well as all matches of significant importance, Arlo Maddox, walked onto the stage. With his showman charm, he began praising the Noxians for a heart-stopping performance. Meanwhile, clips of the most intense battles replayed in the giant screens around the arena.

“We will be keeping the stars of our game here to answer your questions and talk a little about this bomb of a match!” he hyped up the crowd. “Lady Cassiopeia, Lady Katarina, Triana, please allow us a few more moments of your time.”

“Only a few –we got an afterparty to be at.” Katarina deadpanned. ‘We love you!’ the world below shouted. She could literally tell them to go fuck themselves and they would still swoon. Cassiopeia refrained from rolling her eyes.

“And who could deny you your celebration after this game! I mean, it had us _all_ at the edge of our seats. Hell, _I_ don’t even know what to begin talking about.” he chuckled. “Or… maybe I do. How about what you said at that last battle?”

“When I told Jarvan he was born in a highway because that’s where most accidents happen?” Katarina asked with her signature cocky smirk. Laughter came from the fans.

“I was thinking more along the lines of what you said about Lux.” Arlo smiled.

“Well. I was about seventy percent trolling, thirty percent baiting –and a hundred percent stating some facts.” she said. Cassiopeia shook her head, an amused smirk firmly in place.

“And you, Lady Cassiopeia.” Arlo said. “Tonight, we saw a whole different side to you! I mean, even the cameras were fooled into showing Quinn taking down your base –and then _their_ Nexus fell and the world could only _gasp_. They clearly had the upper hand through most of the match, didn’t they?”

Cassiopeia leaned a tad closer to the mic. “The victor has the upper hand.” she stated, even and cool.

“It felt like it was all part of your plan. At what point did you draw the line and think ‘okay this is how we win’?”

 _Bold of you to assume I had any sort of plan in the state I was in, most of the game._ “That fight at the dragon pit opened my eyes.” a strategic pause. “And I saw the Demacians’ fall.” ‘Oh’s came from her surroundings. It wasn’t so intimidating to stand before the world anymore. To be seen.

“Finally, the star among summoners. Triana.” he pressed his lips together fondly. “Everybody expected you to show up at Katarina’s side, for obvious reasons. What brought this change?”

“It’s good to be a little unexpected, sometimes.” Triana replied in her darling accent.

“And you were unexpected, indeed! I mean, changing three of your items, risking it all in going for that final play, that takes a _ton_ of trust in your champion.”

“It does.” Hazel met chartreuse. Warm to Cassiopeia. Cold to the rest of the world.

“Finally, I couldn’t help but notice your team was giving you a hard time when you pulled Cassiopeia back to save her. How did you keep so calm, so focused?” he asked. The noblewoman was wondering the same thing.

“In Shurima, we have a saying.” Triana’s lips curled so beautifully around each foreign word recited. Cassiopeia tried not to openly stare. “It means ‘where there is will, even the dead can rise back to life.’ In short, I never took my eyes off victory –and I willed it into happening.”

The youngest Du Couteau could only be impressed by that answer. She thought it was over, then, as they turned to go. But the world had other plans, spurred on by none other than their troublemaker host.

“Before you go, Katarina, I’m sure everyone wants to see you congratulate your girl for her performance tonight.” And that was the nail to seal the coffin. Fans leapt up, practically screaming for a show. 

There was no way around it.

Cassiopeia watched as emerald eyes shifted to Triana. Then to the arena… then to a pair of crystal blue orbs looking down, pained, from the VIP spot at the upper balcony. Back to Triana. Her sister took a deep breath, placed her hands on the blonde’s waist…

Leaned in.

It would only be a little kiss to satiate the audience. Nothing more, nothing meaningful. Ashe wouldn’t like it, but she would live through it. Triana didn’t seem to mind. Cassiopeia though… in that moment she realized she was the one who minded the most. It bothered her, frustrated her. She couldn’t stand to watch it happen. So, she took matters into her own hands.

The world demanded one thing: ‘ _Kiss_!’

She gave them a kiss.

Cassiopeia hooked a slender finger under the Shuriman’s chin and turned her away from Katarina’s face, towards her own.

Their lips met, cool to hot. Despite all her hard edges, Triana was soft and pliable against her mouth. She tasted like slippery vanilla lipgloss and sunset reflected in water. It was chaste; a simple slide and lock of lips that she desperately wanted more of, yet it was neither the time nor place.

For the added kick, Cassiopeia flicked the tip of her tongue over the blonde’s top lip as she pulled back.

Triana grinned like the cat that got the cream after they parted.

Cassiopeia was thankful for the roaring of the fans, otherwise everyone might be able to hear the sound of her heart beating nearly out of her chest.

…

It was a dream.

Cassiopeia was sure she was living a dream. Everything she could have hoped for, for the night, had come true. And yet as soon as she got into the limousine waiting outside with Triana, the gravity of her situation hit her. Katarina was there, but it felt like they were alone. And that made her want more, want what she couldn’t have.

Whatever they’d shared in the arena, it was during a moment of adrenaline and it was for show. Cassiopeia had kissed a thousand people in her life, in way of coercion. She knew just how meaningless a touch of lips could be. The fact that this one _wasn’t_ meaningless to her was what unsettled her so deeply.

She’d gotten a taste of the forbidden fruit –and she got addicted to it.

She couldn’t go the night looking at it without reaching out to have it for herself –so she did the sensible thing.

And pressed the button to speak to the driver. “Stop the car at the dorms.” she ordered.

Triana’s head turned to her, eyes wide with surprise and something that looked dangerously close to disappointment. “...You’re not coming with us?”

“Afterparties aren’t my thing.” Cassiopeia slid out as carefully as she could without making it look like she was running away. Which… in a way, she was. Garnet orbs fell upon the blonde’s gorgeous face one last time. “Have fun. You deserve it.”

Triana seemed like she was about to say something, but didn’t.

Katarina gave a cool wave as ‘goodnight’. “If you change your mind, you know where we’ll be.”

Cassiopeia nodded. The windows rolled back up and the limousine was out of sight mercifully quickly. The breath she didn’t know she’d been holding was released. The noblewoman went inside, up the stairs, right on the lobby and straight to her room.

She had half the energy left to remove her gauntlets and pauldron. Then, like a puppet with its strings cut, she collapsed forward onto her queen-sized bed.

Yet no matter how she tried to avert her thoughts…

A certain pair of hazel eyes and soft, warm lips didn’t allow her a moment of rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cass out there staking her claim in front of the whole damn world ;). Now people are confused af, torn between shipping KatxTriana, CassxTriana, or all three together at the same time. And Ashe is inwardly like "yesss" while on the outside she looks perfectly composed. Absolute queens, all of 'em. 
> 
> This chapter was hell to write (there isn't much dialogue at the first part and that can get boring real easy) so I tried to balance it out. I'm super tired as I write this, but I hope you guys enjoy!


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: it's gonna get SEXUAL. If you don't want to read explicit content, please skip.

**[Katarina]**

If asked, she couldn’t explain what happened.

The match was an absolute clusterfuck. Of battles, of upsets. Of emotions. It felt like all of them were trapped there, struggling for the future of their House for a lifetime, when it was less than an hour long. If one thing was clear in the chaos, it was that they were falling apart.

Not just as a team –as individuals.

Were they even a team to begin with?

Looking back, the Demacians didn’t get the lead they did because they were stronger, or because they capitalized on any mistakes. They were just… united. That was all there was to it. Where the Noxian summoners and champions tried to one-up the other to look better than the rest, their opponents were only focused on getting ahead for the good of their nation. Where the crimson side was crushed by the weight of their own ambitions, the blues were led on by their patriotism. It was the ideology engraved in each side from the moment they were born.

Noxus had always been like that. No place for unity.

Katarina couldn’t say why, exactly, it hit her so powerfully during that game that she’d accepted that fact, blindly, her entire life. That she never thought to question it.

They won thanks to a fucking miracle.

_But, back there…_

Cassiopeia had been so silent the entire time. Even as Katarina fought beside her against the monstrosity that was Galio, it was painfully obvious she wasn’t alright. That she wasn’t fighting him… as much as she was herself. Physically, she and Triana were always a force to be reckoned with in the Rift. Mentally, that was a different story. Cassiopeia didn’t show any signs of doubt or hesitation beneath that godly composure, but under her impenetrable skin, Katarina could see something _cracking_.

It became apparent after that fight in the dragon pit. 

When her sister’s iron grip closed around her wrist and pulled her away, the redhead had been _livid_. Her heart was pounding rage rather than blood into her veins. She’d been denied her revenge for her brother, all while being forced to retreat to safety like a coward.

And then Cassiopeia had said _those_ words with _that_ voice.

_“We can’t win.”_

_Her tail was cracked at several spots like an old mirror. Cuts decorated her arms and neck, her shoulders were slumped, shaking. Blood fell like a crimson veil over her eyes and the side of her beautiful face, covered by her hand in defeat._

_Katarina’s rage dried out in a fraction of an instant._

_She had never_ seen _Cassiopeia like that before. She could have only imagined the sight from the sobs coming from her forever locked door, in the early months of her transformation. It was a major shock for the assassin, as powerful a sensation as being run through by a thousand volts of electricity. In that moment, she would have given anything to end the game, even as a loss, if it would end her sister’s torment._

_The cameras couldn’t show it, the world would never see it, but the surrender vote came through –and Katarina instantly voted positive. It was fifty-fifty and only the youngest Du Couteau’s decision was left to be made._

_She thought that was the end of it._

_But._

_When Cassiopeia’s hand fell from her face, her expression wasn’t that of someone broken by the pressure. The way she stood then, with her head high, her shoulders square, that gleam in her eye and the subtlest curve of a smirk on the corner of her mouth…_

_She looked like someone else._

_Or rather…_

_She finally looked like herself._

That had been the turning point. Cassiopeia was different after it; certain and confident in a way that wasn’t pretend. The kiss that followed, in front of the whole world, only solidified that notion. To Katarina, it seemed like she’d awakened from a three-year long nightmare. But if that was really the case…

She should have been there.

The afterparty was brimming with exotic dancers, drinks and all sorts of esteemed guests, from Challengers, to nobles, to other champions. The music was loud, but not deafeningly so and everybody was more than a little buzzed by that point. Katarina was in the process of turning down the twentieth girl for the night when her eye caught a scene quite… _concerning_.

Triana was leaning against the counter, the perfect Noxian dream in her super sleek, all-black outfit, surrounded by several nobles. One in particular was leaning a bit too close as she laughed near her shoulder, was getting a bit too bold with the way her fingers were tracing down the zipper of the blonde’s summoner coat.

Katarina’s jaw clenched. The thought to go there and glare the little bitch to death occurred to her more than once, but other than her fingers tightening around her fancy whiskey glass, she didn’t move. Triana had been through a lot of shit to get there; she’d earned her victory and her fun at the afterparty. It wasn’t fair for the redhead to ruin that just because she thought there could be a _thing_ between her and her sister.

Especially when Triana made it very clear she wanted Cassiopeia to come.

And Cassiopeia didn’t seem to care.

_Shit._

“If looks were knives…” a low, husky voice said from behind Katarina.

The assassin turned with a very displeased look painted on her features. A vein popped up at her temple upon realizing she wasn’t even glaring forward, but _up_. Elise had a good freaking head on her in her heels and they weren’t even that high. “And here I thought you’d already have disappeared into your antisocial, man-eating web.”

A brief flash of a smirk was the woman’s reply. “Soon, darling.” Elise replied coolly. She gracefully took her phone out of her bag. Tapped on the camera and raised it so subtly anyone else would think she was focusing on an interesting text…

And took a picture of Triana and the noble pressing up to her side, whispering in her ear. The gears in Katarina’s mind sprung into motion, but by the time she realized why the cryptic woman would even care to do that, the damage had already been done. The picture had already been forwarded to Cassiopeia.

_Are you fucking—!_

As though reading her mind, Elise’s lips curved into another smirk, this time lingering. “You’re welcome, by the way.” she said, already turning around to go ‘mingle’ with her group. Whatever that was. “Sometimes, all people need is a little _push_.”

**[Cassiopeia]**

She had been tossing and turning in her bed, unable to rest.

All that adrenaline from the game had turned into fatigue but then shifted right back to restlessness. As if that wasn’t enough, her mind was dead-set on replaying her earlier liplock with the world’s most gorgeous blonde, which still made her lips tingle with warmth.

Cassiopeia didn’t even know how she did it, let alone why she did it.

Or… maybe that wasn’t entirely true. She knew very well why. If things were different, in a lifetime not ruined by a transformation, she would have done it a _long_ time ago. She used to take what she wanted, whether that was a man, woman, an object. And she was past the point of denying she _wanted_ Triana.

Yet as much as her mind loved entertaining ideas of her pulling the blonde to her bed like in many of her dreams, the realist in her firmly proclaimed that it wasn’t possible. It was dangerous, it had so many chances to fail miserably and leave her a wreck and she still couldn’t tell whether the Shuriman desired her or the things she could offer. 

She didn’t have the confidence necessary to simply walk up to her and find out.

In the end, Cassiopeia left the blonde to hands other than her own –and if she knew anything about Noxian afterparties, those hands wouldn't exactly keep to themselves for very long. The thought bothered her more than she was willing to admit, but she swallowed the creeping heartache down.

Except.

Her phone vibrated with a message. Cassiopeia frowned, then rolled over to take the device from her nightstand. She did a double take upon seeing Elise’s contact on her screen. Tapped on the message and the file attached…

Garnet eyes widened.

The picture sent to her was a painfully high-resolution capture of the youngest Masons heiress getting close and personal with Triana, who didn’t seem to be enjoying herself but wasn’t really pushing her away, either. Underneath it was a single line of text: _Are you okay with this?_

No.

No, Cassiopeia was undoubtedly, completely and absolutely _not_ okay with it.

An unreasonable burst of anger went off inside of her. Her grip opened, letting her phone drop to her bed beside her. She shut her eyes to erase the image, yet it was burned in her mind –in her chest— too powerfully to simply fade away. Cassiopeia wanted to grab Elise’s throat and demand why she sent her that photo, when it was the last thing in the world she wanted to see. All of her fears about that party, confirmed in a few megabytes that positively ruined any hope of rest she may have had. 

_What does she even expect me to_ do _about this?_ She couldn’t very well show up and stake her claim.

_…or can I._

Cassiopeia worried her bottom lip between her blunt teeth. She stood up, slithered to her covered mirror, then turned right back around. She couldn’t do it. She didn’t have the self-assurance to do it. Standing in front of thousands of eyes already strained her control and discomfort to their limits –this was one step further than she could go.

But she was also Cassiopeia fucking Du Couteau and she would be damned if she allowed some minor noble to take what was hers from under her nose.

Psyching herself up, the noblewoman faced the mirror once more. She reached forward, claws and fingers resting on the fabric she hadn’t dared remove in years. They dug slightly in…

With a deciding motion of her hand, the red drape was thrown aside.

Being forced to look at her reflection was one thing.

Choosing to do so, another.

Cassiopeia locked gazes with someone she thought had ceased to exist. With her hair down, freely framing the sides of her face and still styled in flawless curls, the only thing separating her from her past self was the slit pupil in her chartreuse eyes. Their slight glow in the dark, the new hard edges to them. The start of scales an inch below her navel.

She didn’t feel gorgeous, but she no longer felt hideous, either. Even when she’d been the former, absolute confidence was a lie she had mastered the art of selling to the world. This was essentially no different. And all she had to do for the night… was _lie_.

Cassiopeia put on an intricate emerald necklace and matching earrings. She sprayed on some perfume, then paused with her hand over the crown-like helmet she’d worn that night. And for the first time in three years…

She told herself she didn’t need it.

Cassiopeia took a deep breath and made for the door.

…

Everything was so _loud_ , but she’d been through far worse.

The noblewoman opened the doors to the club like she owned it. She slithered inside with all the flare of a queen, ignoring the prominent scent of alcohol, sweat and the dizzying mix of perfumes and colognes in the air. Eyes turned to her, some in appreciation, others in clear shock. She only really cared about one pair as she made her way to the red, neon-lit counter.

Somewhere along the way, she was aware of Katarina dropping her drink and Elise’s incredibly self-satisfied smirk. Cassiopeia fleetingly cast her a quick, narrowed look, to which the infuriating woman only raised her glass in way of a toast.

Triana’s eyes lit up like a Christmas tree upon seeing her. Her whole body shifted towards the youngest Du Couteau as though magnetized, the basic brunette at her side completely forgotten. Cassiopeia cast her a brief smile, then turned to her competition with a look that said ‘why are you still here?’.

It got the point across lightning-fast. The next moment, they were alone.

“You look… _Sol’eth vasseym_.” Triana complimented sheepishly.

“Lovely as the sun?” Cassiopeia loosely translated.

“ _Glorious_.” Triana corrected.

Cassiopeia hid her smile with a smirk and took the blonde’s glass to sip from her drink. She couldn’t say she didn’t like the way hazel orbs followed her every move, transfixed.

“I thought you wouldn’t come?” the Shuriman asked, speaking normally over the loud music, certain that the champion could hear her.

“I changed my mind.” she shrugged a pale shoulder.

“Well, I’m glad you did.” Triana smiled in a way that could melt metal. “…So, can I ask what brought this change of heart or…”

“I forgot your victory present.” Cassiopeia replied easily. Or, at least, she made it look easy. The music was used as an excuse to lean closer to the summoner. One clawed finger reached up to curl under Triana’s chin and the darkness that spread in her eyes was the final confirmation the noblewoman needed. “And you still owe me my own.” she leaned closer still, practically whispering the words to the corner of the Shuriman’s mouth.

So close, feeling the heat of her body spread over her own, surrounded by her scent, sounds seemed to fade to the background and walls closed in. Triana’s hand came to rest on her side and it scorched like a brand. For a second, everything was liquid arousal tingling down her stomach…

Cassiopeia didn’t even have to really move for their lips to lock. Slowly, at first, testing the waters. Until Triana pulled her in a little tighter and she couldn’t hold back from parting her pretty mouth with her tongue. The claw under the blonde’s chin moved down her chest to her stomach for a slightly safer place, which spurred Triana on to suck on her lower lip.

It was about the sexiest thing Cassiopeia had ever experienced. It all felt so intense, so _freeing_. Like she could finally feel after years of numbness. At the same time, though, her mind was a foggy, turned on mess.

Pulling back through great effort, she tried to get a grip on herself. Triana had other ideas, kissing along her chin and nosing under her earring to kiss the spot below her ear. The press of a tongue had Cassiopeia's tail threatening to give out from underneath her. So good it was almost _too_ good.

“Behave.” Cassiopeia whispered to her ear.

She could feel the blonde’s muscles straining to reign herself back under control. The noblewoman closed her eyes and summoned the will to disentangle them. Even Triana’s breath on her neck left her oversensitive and dangerously close to the edge of her pleasure, when she was supposed to have the upper hand.

“Come. Let’s have an early leave from this party.” she said.

Triana didn’t look like she even thought of saying no.  


…

The ride back was almost _unbearably_ long.

The pair sat close together, trying –and failing– not to get their hands on each other. Triana kept her eyes trained out the window and Cassiopeia played with the bracelet around the blonde's wrist, until she couldn't resist the devilish idea of slowly, lightly, dragging a claw up the inside of the blonde's forearm.

Triana's arm tensed. When Cassiopeia looked up, she was met with swirling pools of black, the familiar hazel only a thin ring around her irises.

“Are you trying to kill me?” the blonde breathed quietly, all throaty voice and bedroom eyes. How was anyone supposed to resist that?

Cassiopeia was enamored with that look, that tone of voice. She could hardly believe she caused the thirsty quality to it, but at the same time, it made her feel so _powerful_.

Slowly, the noble leaned in, dragging her lips to Triana’s ear. “Patience.” she whispered, but whether to her mage or to herself, she wasn’t entirely certain.

It was a wonder they made it to her room.

A miracle, that Cassiopeia could slide her keycard in and unlock the door, with the way Triana's mouth was moving on the most vulnerable part of her neck. Once that was done, however, she grabbed the blonde by the collar of her coat and pushed her towards the plush bed.

A breathy laugh escaped the summoner. She sat on the mattress and went to pull Cassiopeia close, but was met by a firm look and an order, instead. “Strip.”

Triana, the smug tease, made a show of losing her clothes, until she stood only in her black underwear. The sight of her ridiculously nicely-defined abs made Cassiopeia’s brain cease all function for a hot second.

When she came to it, she was on her back –and wow, was Triana _strong_ – with a very sexy Shuriman pressing her into the mattress, licking into her mouth. Clever hands caressed maddening patterns down her sides.

The sensation sent a jolt of pleasure straight down Cassiopeia’s tail, to a part of it that was already _aching_.

An open-mouthed kiss was pressed to the spot below her ear and she arched back, a strained moan escaping her gritted fangs. She was living a wet dream –there was no logical explanation for it to be so _severe_. She wanted nothing more than to lie under her lover all night–

 _Wait._ Cassiopeia’s brain caught up. _Under…?_

The loss of power caused alarms to go off in her head and she sprung into action to correct it. One sudden move; and their positions were reversed, with the noblewoman’s fingers sealed over the summoner’s.

Triana seemed dazed at the sudden shift. She tried to move her hands, but Cassiopeia’s closed around them tighter, her hold like a vice, trapping them above their heads. One wrong move and her bones would be crushed, yet she still had the _audacity_ to look turned on instead of scared.

“Top me again and you’re dead.” Cassiopeia whispered slowly, enough venom in her voice to make it sound like a threat. But even as she said it, she felt herself grow impossibly wet at the prospect. That... wasn’t okay. It wasn’t normal. She’d never allowed anyone to hold her down like that, much less _liked_ it.

“Can’t think of a better way to die.” Triana replied breathlessly.

So, her lover had a little bit of a danger kink and a lot bit of a death wish. It made sense, since nobody Cassiopeia had ever been genuinely attracted to was entirely normal. 

The noblewoman held Triana’s wrists with one hand, the other dragging across her form torturously slow, over a lace-covered hardened peak. Down, to rest on the inviting inside of her thigh. She pressed a smirk to Triana’s jaw and lightly trailed her tongue to her ear, where she bit down, careful with her fangs. The blonde's hands strained fruitlessly in her hold. Cassiopeia really appreciated the strength of her new body in that situation. The _power_ she held over the Shuriman.

Her nail lazily pushed the summoner's underwear aside, stroking her once, slow. A low groan escaped both their lips. Cassiopeia needed to hear her voice like that again. Over and over, she built the blonde beauty up and then paused.

“Cassiopeia –let me _come_.” The summoner finally caved, body taut as a bowstring. “Or let me touch you –just, _something_ –”

“Hmm… you can do better, darling.”

A quiet curse came, in her native language. The blonde fought a losing battle against her pride. “…Please?”

“Much better.”

Cassiopeia dropped her head to her collarbone and hastened the movements of her hand. She allowed Triana’s hands to go free to balance herself better and the summoner was smart enough to bring them to her sides, where they’d already established it was safe.

Triana threw her head back into the pillows, the tendons in her neck standing out beautifully. She looked divine; a piece of art depicting passion rather than a human being in the throes of it.

The second Cassiopeia slipped a finger into her, she reached the peak of her pleasure with a gasp of her name.

The noblewoman languidly stroked her lover down from her high, sucking lightly over her pulse, until she had calmed completely.

They simply stared at each other for a second.

Triana’s thumbs traced abstract patterns on the line where Cassiopeia's tail began. It was near crushingly intimate. But she couldn’t find the voice or the willpower to order the mage to stop.

“Can you feel this?” Triana asked, looking straight into her eyes as one hand trailed lower, soft over her scales. 

It was –different, but not in a bad way. The touch was dulled, yet somehow deeper, echoing across her tail, all the way to the tip. Cassiopeia nodded, hiding her fear.

“Guide me?” Triana asked, careful and considerate.

The noblewoman took her hand and guided it where she needed her, to a part where hard scales parted for her fingers. The second Triana touched her _there_ , Cassiopeia nearly fell apart. It was pathetic, that she struggled to last with her when, in the past, the problem had been she couldn’t easily finish. Claws dug into the pillow, ripping into it without mercy.

The blonde was indulging her in slow strokes, but it was still too much, and Cassiopeia was going to come apart if Triana so much as breathed on her. The Shuriman leaned up to press her lips underneath her ear and whispered ‘ _come for me’_ in her native tongue.

That broke her. 

Cassiopeia’s whole body shuddered, a near-pained moan slipping past her lips. It felt like she was falling and _falling_.

The pillow was ripped to shreds by the time she had the mind and the ability to start relaxing her hold.

Tiny electrical currents ran through her. She felt boneless and exhausted as she dropped her weight completely onto Triana, whose nails lightly ran up and down her back.

Cassiopeia didn’t want to move. It felt _amazing_ , the most comfort she could remember ever experiencing. But she needed to disentangle herself from her arms because if Triana kept caressing her like that for one more minute, she’d surely fall asleep in her embrace. And _that_ was a line she’d never cross with _anyone_.

The noblewoman tiredly pulled herself up. Triana took the cue and rolled to the side, picking her clothes up. She dressed in silence, while garnet eyes absently admired the contours of her back and the deep black ink across its entirety.

When she was done, the summoner turned around and leaned in for a chaste kiss that made Cassiopeia smile to herself.

“See you tomorrow?” she asked quietly. The champion smiled her agreement. “Sweet dreams.”

When the door closed behind her, the Du Couteau collapsed back into her mattress. Feathers from her ruined pillow floated up and swirled around her head.

She was too tired to be certain of how she felt about what transpired. At least Triana was alive and well –and she’d take her victories where she could.

Cassiopeia’s eyes darted to her gutted pillow once more. _Your sacrifice is well worth it, at least.  
_

When, moments later, she succumbed to sleep, no nightmares plagued her night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cassiopeia still isn't sure of Triana's intentions (or convinced she's loyal to her because she's into her) but at this point she decided it doesn't matter if she also gets to have what she wants. So in her head, it's more of a mutually beneficial ''arrangement'' than something substantial. Aka she has commitment issues, but so does Triana, so they match. 
> 
> Someone give Elise an award for best matchmaker of the century.
> 
> Thank you so so much for your encouraging comments, you guys rock :))


	16. Chapter 16

**[Cassiopeia]**

Garnet eyes blinked open to the familiar setting of her room, highlighted by filtered sunlight.

One tap at her phone’s screen revealed the digital clock, which read eight in the morning, way later than Cassiopeia was used to waking up, when and if she managed to sleep at night. The full five hours of rest she’d gotten that day were a first, along with the urge to lounge in bed and not trouble her mind with _anything_ , until the next sunrise. Alas, she was a champion and her schedule was filled with matches.

_No rest for the wicked._

Cassiopeia dragged herself out of bed and to her luxurious shower. As the lukewarm water cascaded over her loose muscles and scales, still a darker green from the spell she’d used to have them match her outfit, her mind lapsed back to the activities from hours ago.

If she allowed her thoughts to linger too long, she could almost _feel_ Triana’s soft lips on her neck and deft fingers sliding lightly down her stomach and tail. Cassiopeia wasn’t exactly the easily embarrassed type and she had slept with people she’d worked with in the past without letting it affect their business. Yet for some reason, the prospect of seeing the blonde had her both unreasonably excited and nervous.

She could tell she was stalling as she dressed, perfumed and styled her hair. The latter brought her waves upon waves of discomfort still, but she swallowed them down in favor of her image.

Cassiopeia was aware heads were turning as she made her way to the cafeteria. It was strange that people stared like they were seeing her for the first time, when all she changed about herself was leaving the helmet behind. At the entrance to the heavenly, pastry-scented dining area, sharp eyes immediately caught sight of long crimson hair and the signature grumpy expression that could belong to none other than her sister.

Katarina was waiting at the counter for her black coffee, which she received with a nod and turned around –nearly running into Ashe in the process.

“Watch your step, _snowflake_.” she hissed.

It was their way of saying ‘good morning’.

“I won’t even stoop to your level with a reply, Noxian.” Ashe said back coldly, side-stepping her and clearing the view between the two siblings…

Upon seeing her, Katarina’s emerald eyes went wide, her hand frozen mid-air with her cup.

Cassiopeia gave a smirk and approached her only point of interest in the massive space, seated at the unofficial ‘Noxian’ side of the room. She knew the redhead would take a few seconds to function again, which left her just enough time to greet a certain summoner. Triana was engrossed in her phone, resting her elbow on the table and her cheek lightly against her fist, looking gorgeous as ever under the light coming from the adjacent window.

As though sensing her gaze, sparkling hazel eyes turned to meet it. An instant smile graced her pretty lips, warm enough for Cassiopeia to feel its echo, for her worries to melt away.

“Hi.” Triana said quietly, one step away from shy, when she reached the table.

The noblewoman caught herself staring at that expression, the whole image she painted then. That of a breaking dawn; soft and clear and glowing. It was such a stark _difference_ from the ruthless side of her, one wouldn’t even think her capable of cruelty.

“Good morning.” Cassiopeia replied, taking great care to sit near her without being incriminatingly close.

She didn’t want to give potential onlookers any information… but she also wasn’t certain of what she and Triana even _were_. At least, it became apparent in their brief exchange neither regretted the previous night. That was a solid foundation to build upon.

Katarina purposefully took the long route to the table.

“Did you sleep well?” Triana asked.

“More than well.” Cassiopeia said, holding her eye.

The summoner glanced around, lighting-quick. “So…” she began, while the assassin was still a few ways off. “I have a match right now, but can I see you this evening?”

“We’re scheduled together at eight, darling. You’ll see me anyway.” Cassiopeia smirked, to which the Shuriman gave a sheepish nod.

“I meant _after_.” They both knew what she meant.

But one of them needed more time to think about it.

“Maybe.” Cassiopeia did not commit but also didn’t turn her down.

“Okay. You two have a nice morning –I’m off.” Triana said, perhaps a tad quicker than her norm, rising the moment Katarina arrived. She was gone faster than the eye could blink. 

Two green glares met.

“What.” Cassiopeia shrugged.

“Are you going to tell me yourself what happened, or do I have to ask?” she sat down, expression flat. The younger sibling raised a perfectly plucked eyebrow, feigning ignorance. “Last night. After you left.”

“Why would you think anything happened? We just had a conversation.” Cassiopeia lied with a light tone and a completely straight face.

“Hm. Must have been a _real_ quality talk for you to come here, for the first time in forever, in such high spirits. Not to mention Triana can’t even look me in the _eye_.” Katarina deadpanned.

Cassiopeia hid her smirk with a grimace. “Mind your own business.”

“So, the next time a paparazzi approaches me can I say that kiss with you was a fluke and she’s mine?”

Normally, the youngest sister carefully planned out her replies before she gave them. At the sound of that, however, her answer was immediate. “Don’t even _think_ about it.”

**[Triana]**

She had a mission. She hadn’t forgotten that. In her mind, it would always come first.

In the meantime, she decided, it wouldn’t be so bad to enjoy the time she had. To blend in the era she found herself living in and the interesting people within it. She hadn’t imagined, three years ago, that she would even _consider_ forming any kind of bond in a world that wasn’t her own. A world that was temporary. Something to be used and discarded when she no longer had need of its services. 

But.

Curiosity had gotten the better of her. And then Cassiopeia had gotten the better of her. It wasn’t hard to see why she was once considered the jewel of her kingdom, its resident heartthrob. Everything about her was just so … _captivating_.

From the way she talked, the perfect words used at the perfect spots to convey exactly what she wanted, to the way she moved, with such unearthly grace it could put queens to shame. Her mind could keep track of a hundred things at the same time, all during combat and the intricate way in which it worked never failed to leave Triana in awe. She was nothing short of a genius –and that was coming from someone who had met some of the greatest scholars and strategists to go down in history for their intelligence.

Not to mention her strength. Not many would survive what she endured and fewer still would rise above it. To be transformed and altered in such a violent way, to experience life completely different, with senses that could drive most people mad. 

Not to mention her _looks_.

Triana had to inwardly pinch herself to give proper replies that morning, then that evening, because something about the sight of the noble with her long hair down like that was just _unfair_.

Unfairly stunning.

“And what has you so distracted?” Cassiopeia asked, a slender eyebrow raised challengingly, during the waiting queue before their match.

“Nothing at all. Just this lovely weather.” Triana shrugged, selling the world’s most obvious lie.

“Okay, then what was I saying just now?” Her eyes sparkled like freaking gems. The blonde had _always_ been weak for pretty eyes. 

“That Seraph’s is core and very gold efficient, but we should experiment with the items after it.” Triana replied, a cocky grin firmly in place.

Cassiopeia let out a soft huff. “Yes, so your ears were working, but your mind is elsewhere.”

“It’s not that far away, trust me.” The Shuriman fixed her with a meaningful look. _In fact, it’s right here._ _Just not on the game._

Sadly, their opponents’ champion selections were then locked in and the battle was about to start. The barriers dropped from the arena’s entrance, allowing the team to proceed. At the stage where they came face to face with their adversaries, however… Triana saw something that made her freeze.

Hazel locked gazes with fire-spewing azure.

Xerath was the enemy team’s mid.

She didn’t react. Any slight shift in her breathing and Cassiopeia would know. Instead, she blinked away and focused all of her attention to making sure their summoning bond felt no different than usual. During the teleporting process, though, she could feel the weight of that flaming blue gaze on her. And it wasn’t pleased.

Triana didn’t hold back.

As soon as she got her ultimate, she flashed Cassiopeia in front of Xerath’s face and unleashed her petrifying gaze. She slashed at his arcane body with claws and smashed him down with the gorgon’s tail, as she would any other opponent. He hit back –and it _burned_ , but his partner lacked the power to support a being like himself.

It was a solid victory. 

Triana walked out of the arena as fast she could without arousing suspicion, but Xerath’s form was an unmoving statue looming behind her, locked at the same spot. Waiting.

Outside, the evening air was a cool, dry caress against her cheeks. It reminded Triana of nights in the desert, where dark took over the merciless light and soothed the land with its cold. Shurimans had always worshipped the sun. Heat. She later came to associate those things with pretense and betrayal. With _scorch_. Her own heart, she found, was much better suited to the darkness.

Chilly fingers and claws wrapped around her elbow to stop her. She hadn’t even realized they’d reached the champion dorms.

“I have some business in Noxus, but it’s much later. Would you like to come along and keep me company until then?”

Trina’s lips tugged into a smile.

“I’d love to.”

…

She only had to give a small lie, first. A white one, that she’d forgotten something in the arena and had to go retrieve it. So Triana gave a rendezvous point at the gate and told the Du Couteau she’d meet her there.

She practically teleported to the stage. With the inner lights off, no further matches breathing life into the structure for the night, the area felt much darker than it really was. Intimidating, in way of corridors seemingly stretching out into the abyss, of empty seats and edges unseen in the gloom.

There was only one light, at the center of the arena –Xerath.

He stood there as the perfect equivalent of a malevolent spirit, hovering just above the polished tiles, his form ever crackling with ancient, forbidden powers. His visage remained unchanged, though Triana could feel a glare deepening as she walked up the steps to stand directly before him.

“ _What_. I have places to be, you know.” she gestured with her hand.

“Places. With your backstabbing _friend_.” The emphasis on the word couldn’t go unnoticed.

“With whoever I want. At the end of the day, it makes no difference.” Triana replied, shaking her head.

“Doesn’t it?” Xerath’s voice deepened. “You are getting too close to fire –do not be surprised when you come out of this burned.”

“You know I _hate_ that word.” Triana hissed. Then, schooling her features calm once more, she continued; “Don’t mistake this as more than it is. I’m just passing my time with the Du Couteaus. It’s no different than me reading books and working out all day, while we’re _stuck_ here, playing sitting ducks until the Eclipse.” her tone darkened as she went on. “It doesn’t mean _anything_.”

Xerath only then seemed reassured, though perhaps not entirely convinced. “Careful that she does not figure you out. For her age and time, she is extremely _perceptive_.”

“How will she figure me out?” Triana let out a hollow laugh. “When I technically don’t exist.”

“There are people in the League with eyes that peer into the soul. It only takes one of them to see –and suspect. To speak.” Xerath warned. “Steer clear of the Deathsinger and Evelynn’s main summoner at all costs.”

“Noted.” she said. “Well, if there isn’t anything else…” She turned to go. But the rumble of his voice stopped her only a few tracks away.

“And what of your powers?” he asked. “Have they returned?”

Frosted hazel cast him a look over her shoulder. “Only glimpses. So, no –not yet.”

“I see.” the magus hummed. “You must have heard of what they call you after that match yesterday. Your interview inspired a lot of Shurimans; I dare say the nickname fits you far better than your chosen, commoner name.” he paused. “ _Nephthys_.”

An ancient Shuriman goddess that was said to have been birthed from the union of earth and sky. A deity associated with mourning, darkness and death. Oddly fitting, considering Triana’s past and her still-slumbering power. The universe sure had a deep appreciation for poetic ironies.

“I knew you’d like it.” Triana smirked as she retreated into the shadows. “You haven’t lost your flare for the dramatic.”

…

Noxus was beautiful, in its own intimidating way, at night.

From afar, it looked like a rising fortress of crenelated walls, sharp edges and dim lights, rather than an empire. Of course, the Immortal Bastion had everything to do with the image, a giant of triple towers at the highest point in the capital of the kingdom, overlooking everything –pressing down on everything— from above. Combined with the scarce drizzle that evening and the thin mist, it was almost dream-like, a glorious castle taken out of a fairytale.

The castle belonging to the villain of the story. Still, worthy of awe.

Cassiopeia took Triana to what was probably the nicest café in the entire kingdom, complete with red booths and glass tables and walls, in an architecture that could put most museums to shame. It was a hair’s breadth away from the pier, where tiny lights reflected by the water were positioned at the edge of the ground.

“Wow.” Triana breathed, somehow feeling underdressed even in the overexpensive, designer clothes she wore. Cassiopeia’s lips tugged to the slightest smirk as she led her to a private booth. The blonde only then noticed all the seats were positioned in such a way that one couldn’t easily see the rest of the people in the room, while they all had a clear view of the sea.

“Only nobles are allowed in here. And as you can see, most of us appreciate our privacy.” the champion explained. “There’s this unspoken rule between us that this is one of the few places we _aren’t_ up in each other’s business.”

“So, as soon as you’re outside, it’s fair game.” Triana nodded.

“There is no ‘fair game’ in Noxus.” Well, that sounded awfully familiar to the blonde. It wasn’t exactly heart-warming to see she’d gone from one empire full of meddling, scheming, feuding nobles to the next.

“That’s… incredibly cutthroat.”

“And _that’s_ incredibly accurate.” Cassiopeia replied. “You learn to live with the fact half the people in the room hate you and the other half want something from you.”

“I only really care about one person’s opinion in the room.” Triana said without missing a beat.

Cassiopeia met her gaze. Held it. “Likewise. …Why won’t you tell me, then.” she asked. “What it is you want. I owe you that much. I can give you almost anything you ask for.”

“Yeah, well.” Triana’s sad smile turned into more of a grimace. She knew she couldn’t just say she just wanted Cassiopeia’s time, because the noble had conditioned herself to not believe such things. “I’m not sure how to answer that when I don’t even know what I want.” It wasn’t entirely a lie. Perhaps it was the most truthful thing she said in a while. “But this is fine, for now, isn’t it?”

“It is.” Cassiopeia agreed, bending a tad closer to her. Their arms were almost touching. Triana could feel the soft chill her porcelain skin gave off –and she could vividly recall feeling it over the entirety of her body.

She wanted to feel it again. 

“And what about you? What is it you want?” she inquired back.

An attractive quirk of the noble’s curved lip. “I want a lot of things, Triana. These days I go only for the ones I know for a fact won’t be destructive for me.”

“…Is that the diplomatic answer?”

But really, when she smiled _that_ particular smile she _was_ the most breath-taking sight Noxus had to offer. “Well, I _am_ a diplomat.” 

Triana dared to tilt just a little bit closer to her. It was instinctive; her body decided it before her mind did, drawn in by the scent of azaleas that she’d come to associate with the Du Couteau. Cassiopeia didn’t pull away. Her beautiful eyes darted to her lips and it was clear in that moment they were thinking the same thing.

The blonde leaned in…

But the sound of a ringtone blared before their lips could touch.

The noblewoman reached for her phone as though it had offended her, but her tone was perfectly polite when she answered it. Triana didn’t much care to listen in to what the person on the other end was saying, but she almost wished she did when Cassiopeia’s eyes went wide with alarm.

“Don’t do _anything_ –I’m coming over.” she barked the order into the speaker.

The Shuriman tried to tone down her disappointment to her own self when her company stood, in a rush to go.

“Excuse me, Triana. Business first.” Cassiopeia said, all hard edges, all traces of smiles gone. “I’ll arrange for another driver to pick you up.”

“No, no. I think I’ll take a walk around Noxus, first. There’s a bus to the Institute –no need to worry.” she said.

Cassiopeia huffed. Paused mid-way to turning around.

She gracefully slid back next to her, giving no warning before she leaned in and pressed her lips to Triana’s for a heat-filled second. The blonde barely had the chance to kiss her back before she was pulling away.

“I’ll make it up to you tomorrow.” she promised, then was off.

Triana licked her lips, sat back and enjoyed her coffee.

…

Everything was changed in the passage of time. Nothing even resembled what she remembered –she might as well have woken up in another planet.

But some parts of Noxus held glimpses of their past self. Triana walked the dark alleys of the Middle Ring without fear, having taken the long route to her bus stop. Mostly, it was because she wanted to explore the intricate, vertical structure of the kingdom.

She also did it to get rid of the eyes she could sense were tracking her every move, from the point she left the café and onwards. Her pursuer had been on the ground, blending with the crowd at the market, then the groups at the less busy roads. As soon as Triana took a sharp turn through the silent narrow pathways, however… the hawk-like gaze was coming from above.

He wasn’t a Du Couteau assassin. They were better trained, more subtle, their movements were different. Triana could tell whoever her pursuer was, he wasn’t an ally. His intent was not to silently stalk and gather information –it was much darker than that.

His mission was to kill her.

 _I see some people aren’t pleased with the elevation of the Du Couteau House._ she thought. _But what do they really think killing me will accomplice? My damage has already been done –I helped them win. And now, I mean as much to them as they mean to me._

Which, in the long run…. _wasn’t_ a lot.

The assassin’s movements hastened. His muscles tightened like a spring about to be let loose, a panther ready to pounce.

 _Your funeral._ Triana came to a sudden halt.

A weight was free-falling towards her, an edge gleaming in the dim moonlight before it was shrouded in darkness. One sharp burst of her magic had the man crashing against the nearest wall before he could stab her in the back of the shoulder. He was going straight for the killing blow, too. The blonde always appreciated straightforwardness in her enemies.

The assassin let out a grunt as he twirled in the air, using the wall as a stepping point to propel himself back into her. _Always leading with that same stab._ Triana huffed. A sharp movement of her hand; his wrist was snatched in her vice grip like an insect running into the flytrap.

“You’re too obvious. And the same move isn’t going to work the second time when it failed the first.” Then again, she mused, there was no point to giving pointers to someone about to walk into the afterlife. “Who sent you?”

The man allowed the knife to fall from his hand, catching it with the other. He tried to be quick about gutting her, but Triana simply ‘blinked’ behind him, pushed him forward with her palm. He staggered, eyes wide, disoriented. His first mistake was going in expecting it to be easy.

And his last.

Enraged, he leapt at her for the final time.

Triana side-stepped, caught the blade mid-air and twisted it out of his grip. It was pushed through his throat before he had the chance to even land. His body fell in a heap of limbs, crimson spraying behind and across the ground.

The Shuriman looked at her hand, stained with droplets of red. _How lame of me._ She shouldn’t have allowed a single drop of that trash’s blood to get on her. She let out a sigh, walking towards the dying man.

“Let’s try this one more time –with less of a choice.” she smirked as she leaned above his head. The light hadn’t completely left his eyes, which was the perfect timing for what she planned to do. The dead, sadly, could not speak.

The dying, however, _could_ be influenced. 

Her right hand guided her magic into him, much like a summoning bond. Triana’s right eye gleamed. For a split second, her pupil became slitted like a serpent’s. “Tell me the name of the man you serve.”

A useless gargle.

“Write it down on the dirt.” she altered her command. The man dragged his finger over the earth, until a name had been left there. Triana couldn’t keep him for much longer, but she’d already gotten what she wanted, anyway. “Good. Now you can die.”

The flow of magic stopped. The assassin collapsed into a pool of his own blood like a torn marionette. Triana memorized the name on the ground –and then erased it with her heel.

_Gerome Berthold. I’ll be looking out for you._

She’d just cleaned the blood on her hand at the nearest water fountain, when another noise had her right back on high alert; a child’s cry. Triana’s head snapped up. The next second she’d teleported closer to the source of the wail, ready to turn the next corner and claim her second kill of the night.

Alas.

It wasn’t what she expected.

The little boy who had screamed hadn’t been attacked, nor was he in any sort of danger. His frail, skinny body was leaning over the corpse of a puppy, hugging it close while teardrops fell and scattered over its unmoving head. The dog’s side had a gaping stab wound and the broken staircase railing nearby was bloodied. Triana deduced someone kicked it there –and left running once they realized the dog was bleeding to death.

The boy looked up at her and clutched the puppy tighter to himself. “H-he’s mine.” he said.

“He’s not yours. He’s dead.” Triana spoke evenly.

“I! I found him abandoned in the streets. I took care of him and he of me.” Rivers of tears fell. “He’s all I have.”

Triana took a step closer. Her face became illuminated by a thin ray of moonlight, reaching past the bridges and surrounding buildings. _That’s right. This isn’t the capital anymore, the sanctuary of the rich and privileged._ It was the Middle Ring, though the boy looked as though he belonged far lower. Perhaps he’d managed to sneak into the middle class.

The sight of him clutching his dead dog, begging to save him, even though it was already dead, struck a chord deep inside of her. She saw herself in the boy, carrying a dying Xer’Sai in her arms from the desert and begging her mother to help save its life.

Triana kneeled beside the street urchin and placed her hand atop the dog’s head.

“Did he love you as much as you love him? Would he want to come back for you, even though he may be in a better place?” she asked.

The boy looked up through his blurry eyelids. “I-I think so.”

“This has to stay a secret between us, understand?”

A quiet, uncertain nod.

Triana channelled her energy through her right hand, past the dog’s skin. Then past the veil of worlds, calling for its soul to return. The urchin hadn’t been lying. The puppy’s love for him outweighed the peace it found on the other side.

“ _Arise_.” Triana commanded.

The dog’s eyes opened, glowing black like a spectre's. The wound on its side was reduced to little more than an onyx crack, filled with shadowy arcane energy. The puppy bounced off the boy’s arms and to the ground, wagging its tail.

“That’s—that’s unbelievable!” he cried, pulling the puppy to himself once more. It licked his hand. “A-Are you a God?”

Triana rose to her full height, leaving a few gold coins behind. “That’s not what I am.” she said, walking back into the shadows.

“T-then at least tell me your name?” the boy asked.

“...Sorry. I can’t do that.” she said, casting him one last look over her shoulder. “Because I don’t want to lie to you.”

And then, like a phantom, she was gone. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did someone say... moar secrets? Cass is taking tiny baby steps into the unnamed 'thing' she's got going on with the blonde hottie, but there is too much she doesn't know. And for someone as bathed in lies as Triana is, there is no way to know if what she says this chapter to Xerath is even the truth ;)
> 
> Uploading one day early because work is work and I won't be able to do so tomorrow, or during the weekend. The hours I'm inside are c r a z y and I want to do so many things for my fics (like fanart of Triana and Avarice and all my OCs and edits and stuff) but can't :(. It sucks bad. Enough complaining -for now. Hope you're all doing great and thank you for the support!


	17. Chapter 17

**[Triana]**

The terrors came every night. Sometimes in the form of dreams constructed straight from memory. Others, as gut-turning nightmares.

But still, they were all true.

_Blades clashed amidst the falling rubble._

_Centuries’ worth of history, of progress and innovation and unquestionable reign were crashing down like pieces of a broken mirror. Shattering in the ground all around, lifting the dirt and sand into the air as a tornado would. A terrible storm, seemingly never-ending._

_Triana’s voice roared above the howl of the quaking earth as she came down onto Renekton again, like a thunderclap. Her arcane-granted strength, normally enough to cleave most defenses in half, was completely blocked by the Ascended being’s curved blade._

_Another roar; and Nasus came out of the plume of swirling grains, the end of his staff poised like a guillotine over her neck. She’d overused her ‘shadow step’ –and she had no more energy left to push her boundaries even a little bit further, for a short-distance blink to safety._

_A blue blast, of fire cold enough to incinerate even the molecules of air in its path, sent the Curator of the Sands staggering back and away from her. Triana smirked. Xerath was finally in control of his new body –and the tables were about to turn for the two brothers opposing her._

_Realizing this, Renekton snarled, shoving her into the air with his overwhelming strength. The assassin simply twirled and landed on her feet, on the unsteady, rumbling ground._

_“I thought you knew better than to fight lost battles, Renekton.” she challenged, her voice brimming with dark intentions. “Take a look around; I’ve already_ won _.” she said._

_“Does this look like winning to you?!” he demanded, motioning across the remains of Shurima. Something in his voice, beyond rage, beyond hate, broke. Perhaps the part of him that had always loved her as his brightest pupil. The part that had always been prepared to serve her throne and her vision for what the Empire they fought for, together, could be._

_“Give me the location of the Eternum scepter. Shurima will arise again, free from the mistakes of the past.” Triana said, as an ominous light descended to stand at her side. The power of Xerath’s new form was crushing. She could feel it in her bones, in her very soul, by merely existing in his presence._

_He remained silent, awaiting Renekton’s answer._

_“You will never have the scepter.” Nasus spoke, a grave finality to his voice, as he stood, rivers of sand sliding off his broad form. “You murdered the last person who knew of its location. You destroyed your home for_ nothing _.”_

 _“There is no way my father would know where it was and not reach for its power to smother his foes. And he trusted_ you _above all else.” A deep breath. “But it’s alright. If you won’t tell me, your dying echoes will.” her slitted right eye narrowed._

_“…How could you have fallen so far?” Renekton’s voice cut through the tension like a hot knife. His knuckles tightened so hard around his weapon the leather creaked._

_“You can ask my father that. When you meet him.” Triana prepared her swords for the final clash. Xerath’s arcane body powered up, bathing the area in a glacial blue light, akin to a solar flare._

_“You were my pupil.” he said. “And it’s my duty now to put you_ down _.”_

_She didn’t know what happened in the collision that followed. She and Xerath undoubtedly had the upper hand. At first. And then the two brothers managed to seal him inside that accursed sarcophagus. Bound him at every limb. Diminished his godlike power._

_One moment she thought she had won; the next Nasus was commanding the earth itself to split open and swallow them whole. She was falling…_

_Into_ darkness _._

_Into a chamber that completely shut off all magic, even that of the Ascended. Triana realized too late that she had landed into a prison. Renekton forced the chained Xerath and her deeper inside with his strength. Nyel’Sai’s screech reached her ears from outside, but even a void burrower could not penetrate those walls. She was alone._

_No matter how Triana tried to reach for the threshold beyond the Butcher’s back, it was impossible. He blocked her every attempt –and without her shadow step, she had nothing._

_Nasus was closing the gates. All light was getting left out –and she inside._

_“Brother, hurry! Get out of there!” he screamed._

_Renekton was an unmoving guard. “Do it, Nasus.” he said. “Seal the Emperors’ tomb.”_

_“What are you talking about?!” Nasus was in tears. Triana was getting desperate. She couldn’t accept she’d come so_ close _—_

 _And it all went so_ wrong _._

_“I told you. She is my responsibility. And I accept it in full.” Renekton spoke._

_A final tear crashed on the ground. It was the last reflection she saw, before she was left in an unending, echoing gloom._

_Trapped inside a living grave, for_ eternity _._

Triana woke up with a gasp, her fingers tightly pressed to her sternum, struggling to breathe. She could feel those walls caving her in still, the lack of sight and scents and sounds _maddening_. There was no oxygen in that grave. She could feel the unearthly cold of it, the bones of all past emperors surrounding her, looking _down_ at her.

They didn’t speak.

But she could still hear them, in the back of her mind, calling her a traitor and a disgrace.

…

Punches rained down on the bent, black surface.

Again and again, each hit harder than the ones before it. Each one carrying its own memory, with its own weight. Each, something she’d desperately wanted to be rid of, but couldn’t. They were all too deeply engraved in her mind. In her very soul. There was no escape from what she’d made a part of herself.

Pain barely registered in her senses. It was soothing when it did, but the bruised skin of her knuckles didn’t protest as much as the thoughts in her head, or as loudly.

The fleeting image of a handsome tan man, with long, dark hair and piercing hazel eyes flashed through her eye.

Triana pulled her hand back –and the next hit had the punching bag breaking clean off its chain. It would have flown across the polished gym floor, if it wasn’t for someone behind it, catching it just on time. The hole left at its middle from the blonde’s deadly strike was bleeding sand, grains slow-rolling down the leather and to the floor. Pooling there.

Triana’s eye was drawn to the image, stuck on it, until a familiar voice broke her out of her head.

“I’d hate to be this guy.” Katarina said, dropping the bag to the floor unceremoniously. Her green eyes blinked slowly at her, a question unvoiced between them.

“No specific guy.” Triana lied. “Just blowing off some steam.”

“At six in the morning.” the assassin commented, taking a step closer, past the poor black bag deflating on the floor.

“As good a time as any.” the Shuriman gave her prettiest smile. “And you’re here, why?”

“Who says I can’t be.” Katarina shrugged.

“Champions don’t come to summoner gyms often.” she replied. “And when _you_ do, I hear it’s not good.”

“Don’t believe everything you hear.” the redhead said, throwing her the towel she’d left resting on the arm of the nearest equipment.

“I don’t believe _anything_ I hear.” Triana retorted. “So, you come bringing good news?”

Katarina threw a tiny smirk her way. “No.” Solid steps brought her closer. “I wanted to talk to you about this ‘thing’ going on with my sister.” her voice was quiet and it sounded different than usual that way. But there was no reason to talk any louder in an empty gym at six in the morning.

“Well, I’m all ears.” Triana leaned against the nearest wall.

“You don’t deny it. Good.” Katarina nodded. “Since I respect you, you get to choose between the long and short version.”

“Short.” the blonde said, calm as still water.

Emerald eyes flashed, then, closer and far more dangerous than Triana had ever seen them. Katarina had gone from her everyday self to someone else, someone she’d caught glimpses of only during certain moments in matches. Gone was her snarky attitude and cocky smiles and smartass comments. She was, in every way, the Sinister Blade she was named after.

A killer.

“Take one wrong move that can even remotely hurt Cassiopeia, and you’re _dead_.” she wasn’t kidding. She wasn’t sugar-coating it. She wasn’t bluffing in the slightest. Only a fool would take it as an empty threat and Triana was no such thing.

“I wasn’t planning on it.” she answered, which made Katarina ease back, into a slightly less murderous version of herself. “And I don’t think it’s serious enough that it can lead to that.” she continued. “But I also don’t think anyone can promise this and not be lying.”

Katarina regarded her, cold as a stranger, for a moment.

Then she huffed, the ice gone, replaced by warming familiarity.

“That’s true, I guess.” she spoke. “I never thought I’d be telling you this when I first met you, but… you’re good for her.” Katarina grit the words out. They must have been like pulling teeth. Noxians and feelings didn’t often see eye-to-eye. “And what is good for my family, I support and protect. What is not, I eliminate.”

“That’s a sound logic.” Triana agreed.

“I won’t say this again and outside this room, our conversation never occurred.” Katarina said evenly. “But. Whatever you want –and I mean _anything_ — you only have to ask and I will give it to you. Whether it’s money, fame, a seat of power, both inside and outside the Institute, nothing is beyond my reach anymore, after Noxus’ last victory. The world will know you’re my ally –and nobody will even look at you funny without consequences.”

Well. That was a vow if Triana had ever heard one.

She hated that a part of her was glad for Katarina’s support, even though she didn’t need it. She hated that it reminded her of all the people in the past who had sworn fealty to her. People she’d considered family.

“I like the word ‘ally’.” she said. She didn’t like the word ‘friend’. They were on the same page on that one.

“It’s safer than any other word.” Katarina admitted, something in her eye strangely vulnerable for a moment. “Trust me, I learned it the hard way.”

Hazel met emerald in understanding.

“As did I.”

…

Cassiopeia’s room smelled like her.

Like expensive hair conditioner, the subtle aroma of bath salts and that fragrance of azaleas that Triana would recognize anywhere, after meeting her.

Cassiopeia welcomed her in easier than all the past times, opened the door just a little wider. Her private smile birthed the intense urge in the blonde to kiss it, but she didn’t know if that would be acceptable. She politely inclined her head, instead and followed the noble to the luxurious couch in front of her turned off television.

On the elegant table of Noxian darkwood at their feet lay an unopened bottle of fine red wine, along with two glasses on either side of it. Perfectly symmetrical, Triana observed. Cassiopeia would have made for a model Shuriman princess, all class and elegance and appreciation for balance and control. She didn’t know why the thought brought a proud smile over her lips, which she fought to conceal.

“We shouldn’t be interrupted here…” Cassiopeia trailed off. “But no promises.” She reached for the bottle, poured the crimson liquid into their glasses, halfway. She then shifted slightly towards the mage, her forearm resting on the back of the couch as she delicately offered Triana her drink.

“I’ll drink to ‘no interruptions’.” she smiled, hazel orbs caught on the rim of Cassiopeia’s wine, the way it barely touched her glossy bottom lip. It shouldn’t be that _hot_ , but Triana felt a bloom of warmth in her stomach at the sight. “Though I wouldn’t really mind if I get a kiss in return, every time they do occur.”

“Sly. You know my line of business tends to get in the way a lot.” Garnets creaked at the corners.

“My point exactly.” Triana gave a victorious, cheeky smirk.

“But before we talk about any further kisses, a few things should be made clear first.” the noble said evenly, looking her square in the eye. “I prefer to live in a world of strict boundaries –that _I_ set.” Cassiopeia began. “If you want to keep playing my game, you have to do it by _my_ rules.”

Triana had never been in any sort of relationship, purely sexual or otherwise, where someone else made the rules for her. Her status existed in every part of her life, even when she hadn’t wanted it to. She always had the upper hand and the last word. _But I want to keep playing with her._

“I’m listening.” Triana nodded.

Cassiopeia’s eyes sparkled in amusement, at that. “They’re very simple. First of all, I initiate _all_ contact between us.” she said. “No public displays, no nicknames or words of endearment. No sleeping together. No touching my hair. _Ever_.” her voice hardened at the last sentence. “Last but not least, I can terminate our arrangement whenever I want.”

Triana couldn’t say why that last part brought a wave of discomfort over her. A side of her, however, appreciated the fact Cassiopeia’s ground rules sounded very much like a formal contract. That same side that was glad for the fact this would keep feelings outside the way of pleasure, even though it wasn’t worried they would develop, anyway.

Feelings required a heart.

And hers was ripped out a _long_ time ago.

Whatever was left beating in her chest was a lie. Like the rest of her.

“I can follow those rules without problem.” she said. “But I have some of my own.” Cassiopeia’s visage stiffened, yet she motioned with her head for her to continue. “Don’t ask about my past. I don’t like talking about it. No marks and hickeys on visible spots.” Triana spoke. “I can terminate our arrangement whenever I want, too, no explanation required.”

Cassiopeia’s jaw worked. Both of them had to take one step outside of their comfort zone for their… partnership to work, otherwise it was clear between them they wouldn’t try it at all. Triana felt unreasonably nervous for the moment it took the noble to make her decision. It seemed like a freaking year when it was barely a few seconds.

“Alright. You’ve earned your silence. And your way out.” she stated.

“That’s good.” Triana breathed. Offered a challenging hint of a smile as she set her glass on the table. “…what about my way in?” was carefully asked.

Cassiopeia arched an eyebrow. She left her own glass on the furniture, shifted a breath closer to her, enough so neither would even strain their necks for their lips to touch. The proximity was doing things to Triana. The other woman’s scent, the way her hair framed her pretty face and delicate neck, the way her ruby mouth shone under the dim lights of her room… it all called to the mage like a magnet.

“What about it?” she asked, smirking, knowing just how big of an effect she had on Triana. Reveling in it.

“Cassiopeia. Can I kiss you?” The Shuriman asked outright, unable to wait. Her body _burned_ to touch her. It took so much willpower to keep herself rooted in place, to remember the rules established a minute ago.

The noblewoman slowly drew a cold claw up her side, to her clavicle. Triana resisted the urge to shiver from the feel. Cassiopeia’s intense gaze followed the line of a beating vein, mesmerized. Then her fingers slid past her summoner coat, carefully guiding the fabric down her shoulders, until only the blonde’s forearms remained in the sleeves, like a loose binding.

Cassiopeia pushed a tad further up on her tail, leaning over Triana with that same hungry, seductive smirk. The blonde was lost in the depths of her eyes, those refined _garnets_ she’d absolutely fallen for, the second she looked into them.

“Oh, you want to kiss me, do you?” the noble asked, quiet, the words brushing against her lips in the process.

The blonde dug her fingertips into the couch not to force her in. If the mere ghost of Cassiopeia’s weight on top got her so hot and bothered, the press of her would absolutely _wreck_ her self-control. 

And it did.

Triana involuntarily groaned as soon as their mouths met. Tongues traced over each other in an intimate dance. Her hands eagerly reached underneath the champion’s fancy top, mapping her taut skin before tugging the offending fabric off her. The millisecond they broke away for Cassiopeia to throw her blouse away dragged on too long.

They moved around, against each other, without breaking their liplock. At some point in the feverish tango, a certain part of the noble’s tail slid against the inside of Triana’s clothed thigh. Cassiopeia’s whole frame shivered in her arms, her mouth parting in a soundless cry that ended up as a gasp. She closed her gorgeous eyes, threw her head back and rubbed up to her again, _again_.

Triana was certain she’d never seen anything so erotic. 

Claws gripped at the Shuriman’s shoulders, as soon as scorching lips latched on a pale neck. It would be wise to be afraid, yet Triana wasn’t. She wanted to make Cassiopeia lose control, to have that perfect fucking composure come apart for her. At the same time, she ground her center onto hard scales, finding a spot that hit her just _right_ —

“ _Triana_ — _ah_!” Cassiopeia’s voice breaking like _that_ sent her over the edge.

They gripped the other tightly throughout their waves of pleasure. A high so intense, so dizzying, it was addictive. In those moments of raw passion, there were no nightmares or ghosts of the past whispering curses to the blonde’s ears. There was only _her_.

The noble let out a long sigh as she leaned forward, resting on top of Triana. Her chin nestled in the crook of her shoulder and for a few precious beats, she didn’t move. The blonde carefully wrapped her arms around her waist, while trying very hard to will her pulse to slow down.

Almost as though she noticed, Cassiopeia’s hand slid from the back of the couch to the middle of her chest. “Your heart is so loud.” she whispered, sounding almost amazed.

The thought that the Shuriman essentially dry-humped Cassiopeia Du Couteau wasn’t really helping it quiet down, but she couldn’t say that. She also couldn’t say many people would be glad if her heart wasn’t beating at all.

Perhaps they were even right.

The noble slowly pulled back, their cheeks brushing in the process. Triana’s skin protested at the loss, but she didn’t go far. Just far enough to look into her eyes. The blonde couldn’t tell what she saw, if it was what she wanted the world to see or if she could catch glimpses of what she didn’t, yet she was certain no amount of time would make her bored of the sight before her. Cassiopeia looked so… young, drained of tension. So mind-meltingly _beautiful_.

A black-manicured finger tilted Triana’s chin, traced up the line of her cheekbone to curl beside the scythe-like mark bellow her eye. “This is very popular in Shurima.” she commented. “I never asked what it means.”

A genuine smile curved the blonde’s lips. She tried to keep the sad edge from it, but she wasn’t sure she managed. Triana let the left side of her face roll against the soft cushion of the couch. “Well,” she drawled. “It is a symbol passed down from Shurima’s glory days. It’s called ‘the mark of the exalted’.” she explained. “The highest honor; given to warriors who had distinguished themselves in battles.”

She held the mark of the exalted, long before she carried the brand of the traitor.

_Renekton’s soldiers rejoiced, even arranged in perfect rows as they were, at the grand hall of the Emperor’s palace._

_Triana walked across the royal red carpet the men were framing, side-by-side with Renekton. Her nerves were shot to hell and back, but in the best way imaginable. She was certain other than her future coronation, this was the best day of her life. Only sixteen; and granted the mark of the elite, of her Empire’s deadliest warriors._

_The general looked down at her with unabashed pride as he led her to the Emperor. Master and pupil bowed before Azir’s gold-decorated form. His wife and second son, at the back, were giving her an envious, dirty look –but Triana met it with a smirk of her own. She was the firstborn and the true heir to the throne._ She _was the one worthy of it. Destined for it._

 _And_ everyone _knew._

_“For your service and prowess in the battlefield, you have more than earned your mark of the exalted.” Azir’s voice boomed over the crowd. “As an Emperor, I could not wish for a deadlier warrior.” he said. Triana kept a private smile to herself through great difficulty._

_And then, he surprised her by saying…_

_“As a father, I could never be prouder for my daughter.” Their eyes met, hazel only a few shades apart. “Rise; and accept the symbol you’ve earned.”_

_Renekton and Triana stood at the same time. Xerath approached, long, beige robes flowing in the breeze. A chant was whispered under his breath. The tip of his pointer finger glowed with a dark light._

_It burned, but only for a moment._

_It was the burn of pride and relief._

_“It looks_ amazing _on you.” the magus offered a secretive smirk, before going right back to his stoic mask._

_When Triana turned around, all of Shurima rejoiced for her. Only a handful of people knew she hadn’t stopped looking in mirrors and admiring her darling tattoo for the rest of that day._

She didn’t like looking at it anymore.

But she didn’t entirely hate the way Cassiopeia’s finger traced its edges.

Though she did hate the part of her that caved under the attention, that was so deeply _glad_ the pretty noble hadn’t pulled away and left her to her darkness once more.

“Nowadays, of course, it’s nothing of the sort. Shurimans get it just because it looks ‘edgy.” Triana stated. They didn’t give a damn about questioning the errors in their own history, but they did take away something that had meaning –and turned it into a common, weightless thing.

“Yet you don’t seem like the type to get tattoos, especially here, for the world to see, without it having a deeper meaning.” Cassiopeia commented.

It was difficult to lie to her, so close.

But Triana only had to remind herself she’d never really been honest about anything, to manage it without any issue or tell.

“Nah. I was a teen, drunk and stupid.” she spoke casually. She _was_ a teen when she got it. Drunk on power and duty and all the false beliefs she’d been fed about the crown. Stupid enough to believe them. To believe Emperors were above self-gain, that they would put it aside in the name of justice. If not justice… then family.

_But no._

_Of course not._

“I got it because I thought it was cool. At the time.”

Perhaps she wasn’t lying when she said it didn’t mean anything. Its meaning, after all, had been twisted beyond recognition. And if she herself couldn’t tell if she was telling the truth or manipulating it into something else, then Cassiopeia shouldn’t be able to, either.

Once, the mark under her right eye reminded her of dreams and pride. Of honor.

Yet, every time she looked at it then, it only reminded her of corruption.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Triana backstory incoming??? You bet it is ;) but it has to be done just right, in meaningful parts, so you get her whole story without reading it all at once in italics and getting bored as fuck. It's a delicate balance, revealing a character's past while still making them grow in the present and I'm still working on it. Song that perfectly fits Triana's character: ''Aaryan Shah - Dissociation (Slowed + Reverb)". (Especially where the lyrics go 'I know I’ll never make it home -My demons won’t leave me alone -But I have to live this life I chose.' and 'emotionally imperceptive, it's hard to see things from my perspective').
> 
> On a side note, I rly want to make fanart and edits of all my ocs and stuff, but work won't let me :/ because that takes time I don't have. Super bummed about it. Rant over for now, see you all next week!
> 
> Stay c o o l, beautiful people!


	18. Chapter 18

**[Cassiopeia]**

They’d been together for a few weeks up to that point.

So, really, it was ridiculous for Cassiopeia to still get so stuck at times over how unearthly gorgeous Triana was. Yet right there, bathed in the first rays of sunlight, glowing like a fairy, surrounded by flowers as she boredly traced their petals without plucking them, without harming them, she painted a picture that struck a nerve in the noble’s chest. She was overcome by the urge to lean over her, into her, to win her attention over the pretty Irises.

Alas. There were people around and Cassiopeia was bound in place by her own rules.

Even though, considering the worldwide attention they got after that public kiss, people already believed they were together in some form or another. Neither had confirmed nor denied the speculation, but it was clear from the looks, the polls and the fanfiction popping up that it didn’t matter what statement they made.

“This queue is taking _forever_.” Triana complained with a deep huff, dropping her head into her palm. Her movements were slower than usual, a tad less graceful.

“You aren’t sleeping well.” Cassiopeia observed, absently drawing the tips of her claws over the blonde’s clothed shoulder. It was more-than-slightly endearing how she leaned into the touch.

“Nightmares.” she replied.

They had that in common. But it didn’t just stop with the bad dreams, for Triana. As composed and perfectly collected as she looked, Cassiopeia would be blind not to notice the cracks, the closer she got. Her knuckles were always recently healed with potions and Katarina herself had commented that she was a serial killer of punching bags. She always got defensive and swiftly changed the subject when asked about it.

Cassiopeia told herself she shouldn’t care to look too deeply into it. She got what she wanted. The sex was mind-blowing and the blonde still hadn’t showed any signs of betrayal or insubordination. All was well.

_But is it?_

Something was eating away at Triana.

A part of Cassiopeia wished she would talk about it on her own. Another, that she didn’t ever make that mistake. She knew herself well enough to be aware any sensitive information in her hands could prove fatal, in a situation where she felt threatened by Triana’s existence. Maybe one day they turned into strangers, then enemies. Life had taught her crossing the line from lover to obstacle was way too easy.

And then? She didn’t trust herself with things that could emotionally ruin the blonde. Because she _would_ ruin her.

Like she ruined Sivir. 

_That’s just who I am._

The world had a very prominent sense of irony that was never quite lost to Cassiopeia. It bared its teeth again, that day, when, a few moments later, their teammates came in. Garnet eyes smirked at the sight of Elise, strolling into the arena’s yard like she owned the whole damn Institute, but one look over the tall woman’s shoulder and all mirth evaporated from them.

Noxus’ traditional warpaint and white locks of hair rendered a pair of almond brown eyes that much more intense as they met hers. Riven didn’t show any signs of hesitation to the human eye, but Cassiopeia saw her fist around her sword turn into a deathgrip. Her muscles coiled tightly –and she found great interest in the nearby flowers.

But it got worse.

Because it was Sivir who turned the corner right behind her, laughing with her summoner –until the smile died on her lips. She wasn’t as subtle about her feelings of being on the same team with her as Riven had been.

“You have got to be _fucking_ kidding me.” Cassiopeia could hear her whisper under her breath.

“Well. This is going to be an… interesting game.” Elise commented, approaching her.

“Why?” Triana asked up at her from her seat, a small line forming between her eyebrows.

Elise gave her a look, then caught Cassiopeia’s eye. “I have a feeling.” was all she said.

Triana was obviously confused, but the Du Couteau wasn’t eager to explain.

She hoped she didn’t have to.

…

No such luck.

Cassiopeia was doing great against Jayce in the mid lane, even with the two ganks she drew from Evelynn at minute three and six. Elise was getting a steady lead in the jungle and everything was going well…. until she suddenly realized she was stunned to stillness. Irelia had made her way down from the top lane and Riven’s summoner apparently didn’t think it was information worth sharing that she was missing.

Triana didn’t flame him when she asked him to ping next time, but his fragile ego took offense anyway. It _all_ went downhill from there.

Riven came into her lane to ‘help’ but really only stole her minions and experience. Cassiopeia took a deep breath and held her tongue, letting the summoners deal with it. But after Triana’s continuous commands to return to his lane went ignored, the Du Couteau knew champions had to solve it themselves.

“You have five seconds to leave my lane.” she told Riven, with more of a hiss than she meant to.

“You know I don’t _choose_ to be here.” the Exile replied, taking another minion upon her summoner’s command.

“Then disconnect your useless _fool_ of a summoner and be done with it.” Cassiopeia said back.

“He’s already tilted enough. If I do that, he isn’t coming back—I’m _out_ of the match.” Riven spoke. The noblewoman smashed a minion to oblivion with her tail before the warrior’s sword could claim its gold. The two stared at each other, the rest of the map forgotten for a few frustration-heated moments.

“Fitting. Sounds just like you to run away from the war. Maybe then you won’t have to hurt your new Ionian _masters_.” Cassiopeia’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Wait— I meant ‘friends’.” No, she didn’t.

A vein popped up at Riven’s temple and she knew she hit the bullseye. “Yeah, at least they _are_ my friends. They forgave and understood. Guess those words don’t exist in your vocabulary!”

 _“What the hell is going on?”_ Triana asked, urging her back from the lane, but Cassiopeia wouldn’t budge.

“No, and they didn’t exist in yours, either, before you turned into a traitor.” the noblewoman looked her up and down like she may as well have spit at her.

“Better than being a heartless killer and liking it.” Riven growled back at her.

“You ungrateful coward. My family gave you _everything_.” Cassiopeia whispered, so dangerously low the venom in her tone alone could have killed lesser people.

 _“Cassiopeia…?”_ Triana tried to pull her back again. Unsuccessfully.

“Seeing all the fucked up _shit_ that’s wrong with Noxus and being _sick_ of it, doesn’t mean I turned my back to you or Katarina!” Riven raised her voice. “I tried to reach out to you these years, countless times. You even sent your assassins after me and I still wanted to know you were okay!”

“Well I wasn’t—!”

Whatever Cassiopeia was about to say next got interrupted by a spike embedded deep into her shoulder, turning it into a sharp cry. Before Evelynn could pull her back and slash at her neck, Riven leapt forward and cut her shadowy lasher clean off. The other woman only grinned in a way that was downright _demonic_ for such stunning features and kicked Riven’s knee with her heel –Cassiopeia heard the gut-turning crack— before she used her ultimate to phase back, leaving a dead body in her wake.

Cassiopeia dragged herself to her tower on critically low health. Evelynn blew her a kiss as she recalled right in the middle of her lane, to get on her nerves further.

As soon as she could breathe again, back at her fountain, Cassiopeia was rooted in place by a glacial wave of aggravation coming from Triana.

_“What was all that?”_

Cassiopeia didn’t answer.

It didn’t get better.

Between her and Riven unable to communicate without insults flying in the air, the warrior’s summoner being a butthurt crybaby and Sivir refusing to play anywhere close to her, Elise was the only one on their team actually trying to win. It was a wonder how she stole the enemy’s baron with no help, but they came back from their freefall thanks to it. That and the fact no enemy, Evelynn’s summoner included, had any idea of what macro strategy was supposed to be.

They could claim victory at the following push, if Sivir followed Cassiopeia’s lead and hit the inhibitor turret.

Which… she wasn’t.

“Can we just put our differences aside for five minutes and end this torture?” Elise asked them all. “I need a relaxing spa after this.”

“Like hell I’m helping _you_ Noxians win.” Sivir scoffed and turned away, channelling her recall.

“We’re on the same team and Riven is _hardly_ a Noxian.” Cassiopeia sniped, hitting the structure before her with all her might.

The Exile opened her arms with an exasperated look.

“Being on the same team must mean a _lot_ to you.” Sivir chuckled sarcastically. “I speak from experience.”

“Well it does if you’re still standing here and not bleeding all over the ground again.” Cassiopeia said back, her tone nothing short of acidic.

Sivir advanced towards her, but Nami got in the way, shaking her head. Elise stepped forward to root her in place if she had to. They would have started a fight between themselves and lost the game…

If their opponents hadn’t surrendered first.

The sound of the red Nexus breaking brought a wave of relief over Cassiopeia’s strained nerves and muscles. _Get me out of here at once,_ she thought. It wasn’t a victory to be celebrated.

Before the white teleporting light engulfed them all, Elise turned to Evelynn, who was casually leaning against a wall, checking her nails, the epitome of gorgeous indifference.

“This jungle difference was just too insane.” she fanned herself for effect, smirking like the cat that got the canary.

The other woman blinked slowly at her, then shook her head. Magenta tresses flowed with the motion, perfectly styled, like she didn’t just spend thirty minutes locked in deadly combat.

“It is statistically impossible to carry all _five_ of my team’s lobotomized goats.” Evelynn replied. “I wanted to gut them more than I did you –and it was distracting.”

“I know a thing or two about wanting to murder your own team.” Elise agreed.

Cassiopeia couldn’t fault her for it. She felt the same way.

She also felt Triana’s utter silence wasn’t a good sign.

…

“Don’t look at me like that.” Cassiopeia said, but the bite she willed into her voice never quite colored the words. It was getting increasingly difficult to turn the ‘cold’ switch on with the blonde. Especially when deep down the guilt was whispering she was the one at fault.

“I’m not looking at you in any particular way.” Triana replied, casting her gaze towards the pond they were passing by.

“Because you’re not looking at me at _all_.” Cassiopeia rolled her eyes.

The Shuriman came to an abrupt stop and pivoted to face her. “I feel I should ask what went down in that mess of a match, but it’s probably none of my business, right?” Cassiopeia bit the inside of her bottom lip. “I’m pretty sure part of me doesn’t want to know if there’s still something going on there.”

The noble’s forehead creased with lines. “…what?”

“With you and Riven.” Triana grit the words out.

Cassiopeia’s eyes widened. She had fully intended to change the subject without explaining anything, but her plans went out the window at the massive misunderstanding underway. “No!” she rushed to say, then composed herself and continued in a much slower tone, “No, there… never was much between Riven and I. Not in the way you think.”

“It didn’t sound like it.” Triana replied, unconvinced.

“It was out of convenience.” It sounded awful to say, but they’d both agreed to it. “There was some attraction there, my family supported her and I cared for her wellbeing –so it just made sense.” The Shurima’s jaw worked. “I know you don’t understand, but that’s the best you can hope for, in Noxus.”

Triana nodded. The tension slowly drained from her shoulders. Cassiopeia reached up to rest her hands on them before her brain could remind that they were in public. It felt good, to touch her. She didn’t like it when the blonde was scowling and she was the reason why.

“Trust me, that game was a nightmare, surrounded by my exes.” she hadn’t meant to use plural. As soon as Cassiopeia said it, she wanted to wince. Such a foolish slip, so unlike her, that shouldn’t cause substantial damage…

But it did. 

When Triana’s eyes snapped up to hers once more, something freezing in their depths, she knew it did.

“… _Sivir_?” she asked, like the mere thought disgusted her. Like it was the world’s most horrible offense.

“It was only for a few weeks—” _during which I came to like her more than I should but it didn’t stop me from plunging a sword through her back._ Cassiopeia couldn’t say.

Triana took a step back, cutting herself clean of their physical contact. The Du Couteau couldn’t figure out why learning about Sivir had her so unreasonably riled, _fuming_ , when she’d only expressed mild irritation about Riven. Her pupils were constricted to tiny beads –and something about the way she fought to keep her silence, as if venom would come out if she didn’t, was downright intimidating.

“I don’t see why it should matter.” Cassiopeia tried to reach for her again, but Triana pulled further back.

And that _hurt_.

“It matters to _me_.” Triana said, low and dangerous. “Her whole cursed, diluted bloodline…”

“…Diluted?” Cassiopeia asked. “I thought she was a long descendant of Azir.”

“ _That’s_ the problem.” Triana hissed, turning herself away before she could say more.

The Du Couteau was left there, for the first time since they met, alone in the vast Institute grounds. Poison was rushing through her system and tingling at the base of her fangs. Colors suddenly felt drained and dull. There was an odd sensation coiling around her form, urging her to go after the summoner, though she kept her tail rooted in place. 

She’d turned her back to so many people in the past and didn’t feel a thing.

She idly wondered if that spreading chill was what they experienced.

…

They didn’t talk for the rest of the day.

“Okay. Who said what.” Katarina stabbed her knife into the table at dinner.

“Who do we need to kill.” Talon asked, deadly serious as always.

Cassiopeia looked up from her salad, between the two glowering assassins. “I appreciate the sentiment, but nobody needs to die.”

Their step-brother huffed, checked his watch and stood to head over to his next match. He pulled his hood up and cast her one last look over his shoulder, that roughly translated to ‘if you change your mind you know where I’ll be’.

Once Talon was out of earshot, Katarina shifted forward in her seat. “What is it, though.”

Cassiopeia leaned back, dropping all pretences of eating her salad. She grimaced slightly. “Triana isn’t talking to me.”

“What did you _do_?” Katarina asked immediately.

“Why do you instantly assume I did something?” the younger sister gestured with her hands.

“For the same reason _you_ always assume it’s _my_ fault whenever Ashe is upset with me.” came the casual reply.

Cassiopeia pushed her lips together. _Touché_. It wasn’t a difficult assumption to make. Their upbringing didn’t make them the most open people in the world about their feelings. That… was the nicest way she had of putting it. On her bad days, she’d outright think of them as damaged.

In the past, she used to talk to her sister about things that bothered her. The assassin pretended to only half listen, but Cassiopeia knew she always had her full attention. …Until they didn’t do that anymore. They hadn’t, for a very long time.

And it was her fault, for locking Katarina out. 

“She found out about Sivir and I and for some reason she freaked out.” the Serpent’s Embrace admitted quietly between them.

Katarina’s lip pulled into a frown. “Why, though? Triana doesn’t have a _single_ reason to worry about Sivir. She’s, like, the Institute’s second hottest.” she said. “After Ashe.” was added with a smug little smirk.

“I don’t know. She said something weird about her bloodline –maybe it’s a Shuriman thing I had no idea about.” Cassiopeia shook her head. Saying what was wrong out loud made it both easier and more frustrating for her. She hadn’t realized how big of an impact Triana had on her good mood until then.

“Whatever it is, just go talk to her.”

“I can’t do that.” More like she wouldn’t. She was far too proud to.

“Fine, gimme your phone for a sec.” Katarina said. Cassiopeia didn’t really get suspicious of her intentions when she handed it to her. But as soon as her sister got that sly look in her eye she realized her mistake. The younger Du Couteau pushed forward on her tail to snatch the device back, but the contact had already been tapped –and the other line was beeping.

“What do you think you’re _doing_?” Cassiopeia demanded, fangs showing.

“You wouldn’t have called her on your own.” Katarina shrugged it off like it was nothing.

 _“Hello?”_ Triana’s voice reached her ears from the speaker. Cassiopeia threw one last death-inducing glare at her sister before she gracefully stood to leave for a quieter space.

“Hi, Triana.” she replied.

There was a pregnant pause in the call.

“Can we—” they both said at the same time. Huffed. “Can we meet up later?” the noblewoman asked, fighting a tiny smile off her mouth.

_“Any time you want.”_

“How about now?”

…

Cassiopeia paced in her room the minutes she waited for the mage to arrive.

As soon as she caught the sound of familiar footsteps at the hall, she was already at the door. She smelled her perfume before the knock came, before the barrier of enchanted wood between them opened wide. Triana was there, glowing like a sunset she couldn’t help but want to touch, to have for herself.

Cassiopeia had desired many beautiful things in her life. None as strongly.

“I’m sorry for how I left.” Triana said, solemn.

The noble moved aside to let her in, but the exotic blonde didn’t move. The way she held herself outside, fists clenched, eyes filled with sharp edges, throat tight, she was reminiscent of someone hiding a wound. In pain.

Cassiopeia lied for the sake of easing it away, but it ran deeper than words could heal. “It’s alright.”

“It’s not.” was said fast. “Who you were with isn’t any of my business and I shouldn’t have let it get to me like it did.” The noblewoman was certain the question ‘why’ was evident in her eyes, when Triana continued. “But. Sivir is the reason Azir is back. And many Shurimans aren’t happy for that, I can assure you. His return has hurt a _lot_ of people.”

Oh, but the _anger_ in her voice…

“…You included?” Cassiopeia asked.

Triana paused. Looked down, then met her gaze again. “I cannot begin to describe what he’s done to me.”

The Du Couteau nodded, but the walls of her room felt as though they were shrinking. Boxing her in. All caused by the simple thought that escaped her lips without her meaning it to. “Did it ever occur to you that it’s not just Sivir’s fault he’s back?” she asked, trying to keep her voice steady. “…that it’s also mine?”

Because it always circled back to that, didn’t it. Cassiopeia could pretend she’d left it behind, but that tomb was forever in her shadow and in her way. It had been leading her to hers since the moment she stepped foot in it. Even in her love life, she had to be reminded of its curse and her mistakes.

Triana could be with her and hate her at the same time. The two weren’t necessarily mutually exclusive.

Except she didn’t know how to handle that.

“It did.” Triana answered and it was like the first nail into her coffin. “But I can’t blame you even if I try.” Cassiopeia couldn’t bring herself to believe that. She suddenly felt exposed, overcome by the need to hide away again. “Because being with you makes everything… better.”

The noble looked up.

Hearing that was like seeing a ray of light in an unending storm. Triana was _her_ ray of hope in her reoccurring nightmare of an existence… and that was petrifying to realize. She wasn’t in love with her, she didn’t think herself capable of such tenderness, but she was… something.

No other reason for the earth to seem so unsteady without the blonde.

Cassiopeia carefully reached forward and took Triana by the hand. She pulled her in, closed the door and guided them to the couch. Clawed hands gently pushed on her shoulders to lay down, then settled in between her lover and the back cushions. The Shuriman’s arm came around her waist, while hers rested loosely over her neck.

Cassiopeia normally hated hugs. She saw no point to them and the mere thought of someone’s arms around her felt too much like a prison, than something she’d want. Yet it wasn’t restrictive or uncomfortable with Triana. Rather, there was intimacy and warmth, which her tail sought more of as it coiled contently around them. It was _good_.

“You make it better for me, too.” she whispered into Triana’s shoulder.

It was the closest thing to a confession of feelings someone like her could speak out loud.

...

On the little free time she had, Cassiopeia never stopped searching for more clues about Shurima’s hidden pages of history. There was, much to her dismay, however, no mention of anything described in the papyrous she translated.

 _Could it really all have been wiped out?_ If it was, then it was a very thorough job.

When it became apparent nothing would be discovered in tomes and sand, she shifted her attention to the last remnants of the once-great Empire. Cassiopeia doubted that she could get Azir to spare her a single moment for questions. He’d expressed his views towards the Du Couteau name in the past and they weren’t the best. Renekton had been positively driven mad by his time locked up in the tomb of Emperors and had forgotten nearly everything before it, including himself.

Which didn't leave many options to satiate her curiosity.

Nasus wasn’t easy to find, but the League gave her the opportunity after a match spent on the same team.

Cassiopeia quickly distanced herself from the celebrating summoners, after casting a quick nod towards her own. Nasus’ back was already an outline in the orange background of the sunset, but several powerful slithers of her tail and she’d caught up to the Ascended.

“Nasus.” she called.

The jackal’s ears stood straighter. “Yours is not a voice I expected to hear outside of the Rift.” he spoke, not turning around.

“I have questions for you.” she said, curt and to the point.

“Which I am not obligated to answer.” Nasus continued on his way.

Cassiopeia pushed her lips together. Her name didn’t mean anything in the face of Shurima’s ancient warrior-gods… but she held one that would. The noble cast it like an assassin would a knife. “Not even if it’s about Asenath?”

She didn’t think it would have such an effect on him.

But Nasus positively froze. Something in his stance coiled, as if in pain… and then _exploded_. When he whipped around, fires blazed in his eyes. “Where did you hear that name?!” his voice was a terrifying rumble.

Cassiopeia straightened on her tail, inwardly smirking to herself. “I will answer that if you first tell me what you know about her.”

“You _never_ learn. Always digging up secrets never meant to be uncovered.” he hissed. “I will tell you nothing. There is nothing to be said.”

He made to leave once more, but Cassiopeia wouldn’t allow that retreat without information. “Some guardian of knowledge _you_ are.” she taunted. “Letting Shurima’s brightest star fade away into darkness and anonymity.”

“I am not sure what Xerath has told you, or _why_ , but you know nothing!” Nasus roared.

“I know she was Azir’s firstborn _daughter_ –that’s hardly nothing.” she prodded at his evident wound.

“Daughter?” Nasus chuckled. “Azir had no daughter. And looking up the monster you called a star won’t help you in what you want.” he said. “I’ve told you when you approached me before and I will say it again; the cure you seek _doesn’t_ exist.”

Cassiopeia didn’t show it, but she felt the _sting_ of that. “Funny how she didn’t exist, either, but here we are.” she countered.

“Do not latch onto a lie to find your hope. Trust me, there is a reason she was forgotten. With her cursed name lies not your antidote –only more poison.” Nasus warned.

“How do I know you’re not the one who’s lying?” Cassiopeia asked. She couldn’t read his inhuman face for answers. It was driving her insane.

“Because I am certain whoever made you think of her as a hero and the rightful Empress was misleading you, for she was none of those things.” Nasus said.

“Well, then, what was she?”

“A butcher of innocents. A traitor. A _necromancer_.”

Stunned to silence, Cassiopeia didn’t say anything more as Nasus angrily walked away. Because although she couldn’t read him with the same accuracy she could humans, she could feel it in her very bones that he was speaking the truth. It came crashing out of him. And his description…

It wasn’t that of a hero at all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lil' bit of drama between our two lovebirds, for this chapter. And just as a little hint, there will be *more* drama starring even more lovebirds next chapter (and I can finally start writing Ashe in on a chapter-y basis because I do miss my white-haired prettygirl too)
> 
> Thank you all for your support, see you next week! :)


	19. Chapter 19

**[Cassiopeia]**

It was strange to be sitting at breakfast with her siblings and her lover, without the former trying to kill the latter with point-blank death-glares.

Katarina and Talon had never been open to anyone she dated in the past –and even though Riven had been the exception, she still used to get her fair share of narrowed looks at the Du Couteau residence. But Triana? She had the two assassins positively _charmed_.

“And there was just something so _satisfying_ about jumping over the wall to one-shot Ezreal…” Talon was talking about his latest clown fiesta of a match.

“Wow, that’s the most words I’ve _ever_ heard you string together, since the damned moment I met you.” Katarina commented, clapping her hands together twice. “Cause for celebration.” she said, stabbing his donut from his plate and claiming it for herself. Their step-brother didn’t react fast enough to preserve his food. The redhead gave him a smug grin. “Too slow –like _always_.” 

“Screw you.” Talon grimaced, which only made her lips twitch into a characteristic smirk.

“Screw alone.”

Cassiopeia pointedly rolled her eyes at the scene. Ever since their father had presented Talon to them as the newest addition to the family over a typically frosty dinner, she had known this was what she’d have to deal with, on a daily basis.

Katarina had hated him with a passion, at first. He was, after all, their father’s way of telling her she was _replaceable_. The redhead had made it her life’s purpose to render his stay in their mansion a living hell, whenever Marcus wasn’t around. Cassiopeia hadn’t been particularly fond of him, either. He was good-looking and talented, to be sure. But she didn’t need a bodyguard so completely devoted to the General he was basically a spy reporting her every move to him. So, she’d sabotaged Talon in her own subtle way, on several occasions.

It had been that way for many years.

But, eventually, living under the same roof smoothed over the edges they had for each other. Talon approached them more and _could_ be persuaded to let them sneak out of the house –and even come along— without ratting them out to their father. His rivalry with Katarina shifted in nature, from aiming to overthrow her to simply getting on her nerves.

Cassiopeia couldn’t pinpoint when, exactly, she began to trust him. At some point, she realized she just did.

_The night sky was brimming with stars._

_The noblewoman took a deep breath, committing the beautifully intimidating scenery of Noxus’ dim lights to memory. She was to leave for Shurima the following afternoon… and there was no telling when she would be returning home. Or even if she would be the same once she did, with the world-changing power she was set to uncover. Would her eyes look upon the world the same way, she wondered…_

_“Hey.” Talon’s voice came from behind, nearly making her jump. She hadn’t heard him step into the room, much less join her out on the balcony. The assassin probably descended from the roof, a habit she_ should _be used to because of Katarina, but wasn’t._

_“Can you and my sister learn to use doors like normal human beings?” she asked, no real bite to her tone._

_“It’s no fun that way.” Talon replied through a small shrug._

_“Your idea of ‘fun’ worries me.” Cassiopeia shook her head, flawlessly-curled blonde locks swaying with the motion. “And something clearly worries_ you _, for you to be here.”_

_Talon did not seem at all comfortable speaking his mind. “I asked the General to let me come with you to Shurima.” he said. “But he… did not allow it.”_

_“Of course. You and Katarina are needed here.” she spoke evenly. There was something about the shadows at the corners of his eyes, however… “You’re not questioning father’s orders, are you?” she teased, glossy lips curling into a challenging smirk._

_“Of_ course _not.” he hurried to say, as though offended. Then paused. “But that place –it’s full of thieves and raiders.”_

_“I’ll go with three of our best agents and hire additional protection there.”_

_“Not to mention you can’t even stay one_ hour _under the sun without complaining about your complexion.” he continued._

_Cassiopeia rolled her eyes at that one. Not that it wasn’t true, but she would bear the hellish desert scorch to achieve her goal. “Talon.” she spoke, in a way that made his shoulders square. “Not going is out of the question. Nothing and no one can talk me out of it. So, since I may not see you tomorrow, the best you can do is wish me a safe trip now.”_

_The man inhaled. Looked sideways, then met her eyes. In an entirely uncharacteristic move, he reached forward to lay an encouraging hand on her silk-clad bicep._

_“Just… be careful out there.” he said and the next moment he was a shadow stepping onto the railing behind her, dropping into the dark garden below._

_It took Cassiopeia several seconds to blink past her surprise. A fond smile blossomed on her lips. Who would have thought, she mused, that the obstacle she once planned to get rid of would turn into her most dedicated protector. Talon could not follow the path she chose to walk…_

_But she was glad to leave on her mission knowing someone so capable had Katarina’s back._

“Your Promos to Master are today, right?” Talon asked Triana, with the same tone reserved for people he liked.

“Yeah, in the evening.” she replied.

“And you’re taking a holiday leave for Shurima after?” Katarina’s voice cut in.

 _Oh, right._ Cassiopeia had almost forgotten that winter holidays were upon them. She hadn’t celebrated the past years’ Christmas nor left the Institute to return home, so she herself wasn’t certain if she wanted a leave. She _was_ sure she wasn’t eager to spend two whole weeks without Triana to heat up her nights.

“Actually… I’m staying.” the Shuriman’s nose cutely scrunched up. Cassiopeia thought she shouldn’t be so relieved to hear that. “It’s a family holiday and I don’t really have anyone there so…” the summoner shrugged casually.

Two sets of green eyes met from across the table. Katarina’s were silently asking what the younger sister’s plans were. Cassiopeia made a very subtle shake of her head, uncomfortable still with the idea of returning to their mansion. Too many awful memories lingered in that place.

But the elder sister didn’t seem like she would drop the subject so easily.

Cassiopeia laid a gentle hand on Triana’s shoulder. “Kat and I need to leave. I’ll see you this evening.”

The blonde gave her a smile that could light up the whole room.

On the empty hallway outside the cafeteria, Katarina turned to her. “Freya would be happy to see you.” she said.

The maid had raised them as her own daughters after their mother’s death –and Cassiopeia knew she’d hurt her enough emotionally the past years. It _would_ be good for all of them to be there.

But—

Garnet eyes looked back, at Triana still casually talking to Talon at their table.

“You can invite her, you know.” Katarina spoke, though it wasn’t so simple. Mainly because that would be admitting they were closer than Cassiopeia wanted to be with anyone. But also…

“What about Ashe?” Cassiopeia asked back.

“It’s a huge mansion. We’ll be on opposite sides.” the redhead countered.

“I’m not taking the risk.” she was adamant about that.

She didn’t even want to consider the possibility of Triana _ever_ finding out about the Du Couteau secret. She didn’t want to consider what she’d have to do to her afterwards. Cassiopeia felt a chill crawl up the back of her neck at the mere prospect.

“Well, then you’ll be sulking all the way through Christmas break.” Katarina stated.

“It’s not the end of the world if I’m not with her for a few days.” Yet even as she said it, Cassiopeia was already unhappy about it. _Godsdamn it._

The assassin gave her a serious look. She seemed to debate getting the next words out. “…It’s alright to feel strongly for Triana. It’s not as terrible a thing as we were taught.”

 _“Feelings are weapons. They can cut and maim swifter than any blade.”_ Their father’s words came to mind.

“It _is_.” Cassiopeia’s tone turned cold as ice. “Affection _isn’t_ my sort of thing.”

She manipulated it. But she was incapable of it.

…

Seven in the evening.

That was the exact time Cassiopeia was informed of a double agent among her people, working for both her and House Berthold. Her match was at eight, but she was confident in her ability to make him talk before then.

The second she slithered into the chamber prepared for her by her spies, sharp, slitted eyes glowing in the dark like a terrible omen, the man strapped to the single chair in the room began shaking like a leaf.

“Everybody out.” Cassiopeia ordered. Her men obeyed without a second thought. “Nobody comes in until I say so.” her voice dropped a deadly octave.

Hard scales dragged along the ground, creating an eerie, grating sound as she circled her target. The man was trying to be strong, to hold onto his dignity until the end, but the subtle spasm of his muscles, all too clear under her inhuman sight, said otherwise.

“I’m sure you know House Du Couteau is known for its generosity in rewarding the disciplined and the loyal.” she began, the ends of her sentence lingering in a slight echo. “I’m sure you also know we have never tolerated _traitors_.” she loomed above him. “So it makes me wonder why you would turn against us. Why you would be so _stupid_.”

“Gerome Berthold offered me something you couldn’t –it’s that simple.” he hissed out despite his fear.

Cassiopeia gazed apathetically down at him. “…And what is that?”

“ _Revenge_.” was said. “You _murdered_ my friend because he found out something about your sister you never wanted known.”

She held her expression cool. Unchanged. “I have murdered many people.” she said, pretending to not know who he was talking about. “You don’t have to be included in the list of those who died screaming.” the noblewoman continued. “Tell me; what secrets did you tell the Bertholds?”

The man forced himself to grin. “Just _one_.” was said. “A location. Where Katarina would be… right about _now_.”

Cassiopeia’s usually still nerves gave a violent kick in her body. Her jaw clenched tightly –and her plan to petrify him flew out the window. It was far too quick and painless a death for someone who dared threaten a member of her family. Her claws flexed, instead. Ancient venom pooled at their tips, hot like lava. Cassiopeia slashed at his throat in one swift motion.

He inhaled sharply; and the breath froze over in his chest.

Gasps soon turned to cries. Veins bulged, standing taut against his pale skin. As the poison spread through his bloodstream, the double agent’s mouth fell open in silent screams of agony. Cassiopeia knew that pain well. She knew there was no escaping that all-encompassing _hellfire_.

The Serpent’s Embrace turned away, the gears of her mind already figuring out her next move. The Bertholds had powerful mercenaries in their clan, but surely none of them were even remotely a match for Katarina.

_…but what about all of them?_

If their long-enemy House decided to make such a bold move, no doubt pressured by the Du Couteaus’ skyrocketing influence as of late, they were betting everything on its success. They would use every weapon and dirty trick in their arsenal to make their ambush Katarina’s grave.

 _And worse yet, Ashe is with her._ Cassiopeia’s tail coiled.

Her body count for the night wouldn’t stay at one for long.

**[Triana]**

Cassiopeia wasn’t coming.

Triana had nearly crushed her phone with her magic the second she was informed of this, not from her lover herself but a random league _official_.

At the last possible minutes before her promotional match to the Master rank, there was no way she could find a suitable replacement. The Institute staff present told her she could press charges against the woman for ruining her promos. Her options were two: report Cassiopeia and let the High Council deal with it or choose another Champion from those available and play ridiculously safe.

The Shuriman wasn’t interested in any of those scenarios, however. After the initial frustration died down, her mind focused on what really mattered: the _reason_ why Cassiopeia would stand her up. 

It couldn’t have been a simple one. If something work-related came up, she would have, at the very least, called.

_Is she alright…?_

Triana paced behind the curtain leading to the arena. Outside, she could hear the voices of her fans, rooting for her to step forward and claim the rank she deserved. She wanted to climb up the summoner hierarchy. _Needed_ to. She couldn’t stand to be anywhere other than the top and Diamond was far from it. It was good, but it wasn’t good _enough_. 

And Cassiopeia was no human being anymore. Surely, she couldn’t be in any real danger from those inferior to her, the mage’s mind mused. _…but what if she is?_ The emotion-driven, less logical part of her brain countered.

Triana smacked the side of her fist against the wall.

Then she began walking away, ignoring the protests of her team.

“Know that whether you report her or not, you _will_ be penalized for leaving—” a member of the staff hurried after her to explain.

Triana abruptly halted. The piercing look she threw over her shoulder stunned him in place. “Shut up.” she said. “I don’t give a damn.”

Rapid steps carried her out of the high-end arena.

…

The guards and officer at the main gate were hesitant to share information about Cassiopeia, at first. Apparently, it was to keep champions’ schedules as private as possible. Fans and summoners came to them all the time asking about their idols and they weren’t allowed to give answers that could compromise their personal lives.

Triana set her jaw and narrowed her eyes at the officer. She wasn’t in the mood to play by the book. “Take a better look at my face and let’s try this again.” she used a more authoritative tone, stepping directly under the lights. “Do you recognize me?”

“Y-yes, summoner Nephthys.” He visibly gulped.

“I’m not some random nobody asking you about her. I want to know exactly _when_ Cassiopeia left, _where_ she was headed, and you _don’t_ want her to know you didn’t tell me.” At the sound of that, the man turned three different shades of terrified.

“W-Well, she left about ten minutes ago, without her driver, which is _very_ unusual—” the truth came spilling out of him in a wild barrage of words. “And practically dashed towards the forest, right that way, even though the nearest village is _hours_ of walk from here…”

 _Shit._ Triana gave him a quick nod. Then she positively dashed towards the direction he’d pointed at. The first minute, she held back her true speed, just in case anyone was around that could see her. After she was certain she had melded with the dark, however, surrounded by the first scarce trees of the miles-long forest… she was but an apparition, blinking from one point to the next.

Something in her gut was telling her to hurry.

As soon as Triana caught glimpses of tire tracks in the soil, she trusted it even more. It looked like someone had to violently swerve off-road –perhaps to avoid a trap set there?— and make a beeline for the clearing of the forest. The Shuriman followed the lines and the path of crushed branches along the way…

Hazel eyes widened at the sight awaiting her at the end.

Cassiopeia was there, but she wasn’t the only one. Katarina’s bike was lying abandoned on the grass, while the two Du Couteaus stood ahead, poised for a fight against a small army of leather-clad mercenaries steadily advancing for them. At their backs was another figure, feminine, from what Triana could make out from their lithe outline in the dark, clad in a black cloak that completely obscured their features. They were protecting her… and hiding her at the same time.

Triana wasn’t supposed to be there. She knew that. Cassiopeia had come alone so whoever was with Katarina wouldn’t be seen by anyone else.

It was _dangerous_ for her to know more. 

In the time it took her to decide what the best course of action was, all hell had already broken loose.

Katarina was a whirlwind of rage and steel as she _shunpo’ed_ from one enemy to the next, no mercy in her eyes or her blades as they sliced at vital points with terrifying precision. Her speed, combined with that strength, could put most assassins to downright _shame_. Cassiopeia’s claws sliced through flesh like butter, one swing of her tail enough to send dozens flying across the air with broken bones.

Triana involuntarily stepped forward at the sword she saw come down onto Cassiopeia’s shoulder. She barely held herself back, reminding her foolish reflexes that her skin couldn’t be pierced by conventional weapons. And it was true, for the blade came away from the porcelain chipped, as though it had collided with granite.

A hiss escaped the woman, then ancient light spilled out of her eyes. The two men staring into them turned to statues, their fear frozen in their rapidly greying faces.

But... after her true power was unleashed, Cassiopeia’s movements changed. They were more aggressive, primal. Triana realized she never learned to control her powers, merely kept them contained. Supressed.

Their release rendered her a danger, even to Katarina.

Bloodstained, with crimson drops spilling in the air around them and the ground beneath them, the two sisters drifted further apart from each other as the fight went on.

The redhead was reaching her limits for using the _shunpo_. It wasn’t a move meant for drawn-out fights. So, when one of the mercenaries who had stayed back and observed like a hawk for an opening finally found it amidst the chaos, Triana couldn’t hold her position any longer.

He cast a knife that was headed straight for Katarina’s nape. Cassiopeia was too far away to shield her and too lost in her rampage to even notice. A familiar voice cried out:

“Watch your back!”

Triana didn’t stop to ponder where she’d heard it before. She blinked forward –and smacked the knife away with a burst of her magic.

Katarina’s eyes were wild when she snapped around, meeting her gaze.

“Triana…?!” There were a thousand questions in those emeralds. How she knew to be there, _why_ , the most prominent among them.

Triana didn’t say anything back. She merely raised her hand towards the man who had thrown the knife –and used a sudden pull of her energy to make him stagger forward. Katarina took the cue to teleport behind him and slice at his throat. Their gazes met once more. But that was when the assassin’s shifted, suddenly and violently, overcome by raw _fear_ —

Two mercenaries had snuck past them, towards the hooded figure Triana could only assume to be her girlfriend. The Sinister Blade had just come out of a _shunpo_ and there was no way for her to get there in time. Triana, however, _could_.

In a burst of speed granted by magic -because using the mirror move to Katarina’s was out of the question right there- the Shuriman got to the woman at the same time as her assailants. She grabbed the first mid-air, twisted his hand and used him to stab his fellow mercenary’s carotid artery. Then, with a sharpened ray of energy, she killed the former.

As soon as the two bodies dropped to the ground, she realized she’d come face-to-face with the mystery woman. Stark ice-blue met shocked hazel. Even without the white locks of hair framing her beautiful, delicate face, Triana would recognize those eyes anywhere.

“…Ashe…?” she breathed out. 

She was poised to expect everything. Or so she’d thought.

That revelation threw her for a loop. The milliseconds it took her to recover, to shake herself out of it, could have proven _fatal_.

Another man rushed them from the shadows. Triana could only have used her shadow step to escape –and despite her body going through the initial motion to dodge the attack, her brain won over instinct and rooted her in place. If she escaped, there was nothing shielding Ashe from his weapon.

The result was that she ended up a fraction too late in redirecting his weight safely –and his knife was pushed into her shoulder before she snapped his neck with a single, arcane-empowered hit.

The queen then sprang into action and quickly pushed her to the side. An arrow flew cleanly between their heads, lodging into the tree at her back.

One sharp motion of the Frost Archer’s hand summoned her crystalline bow from frozen air. It was clear she decided she had enough of hiding and sitting back. _Nobody_ would be making it out of that clearing alive to tell her secret.

With her assistance, Katarina made short work of the rest.

The clearing was a mess of bodies as the redhead began to numbly approach them. Cassiopeia’s chest was heaving with the effort to calm and contain herself. When she regained some semblance of control, when she realized it wasn’t three, but four people standing in the blood-soaked area, she froze.

Their eyes met from across the field.

“…what are you… doing here…?” her breath hitched.

Triana took a step closer to her –and realized her body wasn’t obeying her commands as it should. Her vision was blurring and the forest was shifting unnaturally to her eye. Hazel orbs looked down at the knife still embedded in her shoulder. She grabbed it and took it out with a pained grunt, but even for that, her hand was shaking, too weak.

 _Poisoned_. She realized. _The blade was poisoned._

And although she had been trained to withstand most venoms of her time, the same couldn’t be said for those created thousands of years later. She stumbled forward, collapsed on one knee. Her heart was already not beating right. Sounds were dulled. _This isn’t good._

The venom wasn’t deadly enough to kill her on the spot, but it would, if she didn’t get to a doctor in time. Except…

Except she knew too much.

Triana wanted to laugh more than she wanted to cry. After everything she endured, what a pathetic way to die.

But maybe it was fitting.

Maybe, she deserved it.

That was her final thought before everything gave way to _black_.

**[Cassiopeia]**

Cassiopeia was stunned in place, frozen from the inside out.

Ashe had rushed to Triana’s side, blue eyes wide with worry, but the noblewoman couldn’t move an inch. Katarina was much the same, the fire in her extinguished completely, leaving behind a numb, echoing cold. She had no idea how Triana was there. Every _fibre_ of her being wished she could turn back time to make sure she never left the Institute.

But she had.

And there was no changing what she saw.

“Get away from her.” Cassiopeia said, her voice low, a bit hoarse, but perfectly still for the tornado of emotions wrecking her on the inside.

Ashe looked up at her in protest, but Katarina pulled her into her side before she could speak up about it. The youngest Du Couteau lowered herself on her tail, checking the wound on Triana’s collapsed form. She didn’t know if she was endlessly relieved or petrified to realize there _was_ time to save her, if she acted quickly.

She recognized the poison. She could just tell Soraka what antidote to give her straight away, without any permanent damage left on her. The blonde would be up on her feet in a few days. And…. and. She would still remember everything that transpired that night.

“She knows about you now.” Cassiopeia whispered, more to herself than the forbidden pair, with a crushing finality to her voice. _And there is nothing I can do to guarantee her silence._ Their only guaranteed safety… was her death.

“What do you _mean_ …?” Perhaps to Ashe, the notion was inconceivable. But Cassiopeia couldn’t allow Triana to have so much power over them and trust her not to abuse it. Not to lead them to their execution. She could not risk her family for a lover she got closer to than she intended, than was smart.

_And now I’m paying the price for my mistakes._

Because she couldn’t watch her die, but she couldn’t save her.

Gods, she couldn’t _breathe_.

“You can say I’m heartless.” she spoke, tone unwavering, yet hollow. “I am. I have to be, because _you_ can’t.” Katarina never quite managed it. She didn’t have the aptitude for it. Cassiopeia was the one with the heart of an assassin. “But it’s how we _survived_.”

Whether she was justifying her action –lack of action— to Katarina or Ashe or herself, she wasn’t certain. It didn’t matter.

She would never feel Triana’s arms around her again. She would never see her smiling for her again. And she would go on for the rest of her miserable life, knowing she was the death of every lover she ever came to remotely care about.

 _Sivir was right_. She thought bitterly _. I am the poison._

“She saved our lives.” Ashe said, looking between Katarina and Cassiopeia, deadly serious. Something in her stance changed; as though she was even prepared to fight them for it.

“But can you trust her with your crown?! With our last name? With _everything_?” Cassiopeia’s rage bubbled out from some hidden part of her.

There was a beat of silence between them.

“…I can.” Katarina finally spoke up. Garnet locked with adamant emerald.

“I can.” Ashe backed her up, laying a hand on her arm.

 _Have you both gone insane?_ Cassiopeia wanted to ask. They knew _nothing_ about her.

But deep down… it was the answer she’d needed to hear.

A distress signal was sent to the League.

Katarina called for Ryze to urgently teleport the poisoned summoner to the Med Wing. Ashe stayed hidden while Cassiopeia weaved a convenient half-lie to tell Kayle, a blend of truth and too many things left unsaid, that was entirely too believable for anyone to doubt.

By the time the noblewoman was done dealing with the mess, her temples felt ready to explode from the stress and headache. Still, she would not rest until she had visited Triana.

Soraka didn’t want to let her in, at first. It was for the good of the patient if she was left alone to recover, she said. Triana was unconscious and would remain that way for a while. She was stable, at the very least.

Cassiopeia’s expression must have broken, hearing that. The weight of the entire night crashed onto her at once and she knew she let something slip, because Soraka offered a painfully soft, compassionate look and relented. 

“I can make an exception for a loved one, I suppose.”

The noble didn’t have the strength to correct her on that one. She just slithered into the room, the scent of antiseptic too strong in the air and sat on her coiled tail, next to Triana’s bed. She watched the machine monitoring her heartbeat, then cast her eyes over her sleeping form. Her breaths came out with a slight shudder, but other than that, she was perfectly serene.

A clawed hand hovered over the blonde’s, but Cassiopeia pulled it back to her corner of the mattress. She didn’t deserve to touch her. She hadn’t been the one who poisoned her, but somehow it felt like she was.

Triana shifted slightly, towards her, so her bicep was touching Cassiopeia’s wrist. Perhaps subconsciously seeking the chill of her skin in her feverish sleep. The noblewoman laid her elbow on the bed and her head on it, next to the Shuriman’s pillow.

 _I almost killed you tonight_. She thought.

_I almost killed you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand here we go, drama galore. First of all, we all envy and at the same time feel sorry for Talon to have had to grow up with these girls. Secondly, I love the idea that Katarina always had the talent of an assassin but not the heart of one, so she always needed Cassiopeia to ''complete'' her. And Cass, for her part, made herself even more ruthless and cruel because she knew she had to compensate for Katarina and Talon, as well. She had to make the decisions they wouldn't (or those that would haunt them for the rest of their lives) to preserve their family name. 
> 
> Last but not least, it means a fuck lot for Katarina to trust Triana not to screw them over. She basically accepted her as part of their family.
> 
> Btw, you guys are great and you keep me so motivated to keep writing. Many kudos!


	20. Chapter 20

**[Triana]**

Everything burned.

She couldn’t say how long it blazed for. It could have been hours and it could have been days. She was aware of her surroundings, at some points, though completely lost, at others. She couldn’t open her eyes or will her body to move. Triana wondered, fleetingly, if that was what death was supposed to feel like. Like darkness and echoes and fire.

Gods, she _hated_ fire. 

Eventually, however... the blur subsided.

Hazel orbs blinked open to a white ceiling and grey walls, to the steady, soft whir of medical equipment around her. One look at the closest window affirmed it was nighttime, though of which day was unknown. The room smelled sterile; the scent of anticeptic thankfully not sharp and overpowering, though even its faint traces made her stomach turn.

But there was another smell, the polar opposite of faceless iodoform. This one was warm in its familiarity, elegant azalea extract combined perfectly with the subtlety of expensive hair conditioner. Triana turned her head to the side, her eyes softening at the sight.

Cassiopeia was curled atop her tail on the floor beside her, with her elbows resting on the mattress and her cheek on top of her left forearm. Her curly hair fell over her back and the side of her face like rivers of shiny brown, her naturally curved lips, for once unpainted, were pressed together, her long eyelashes stood stark black against her porcelain skin. They were close enough that Triana could count every single one if she so wished.

The noblewoman looked different, so serene. Young and a soft type of beautiful that nobody would think to associate with her at any other time of the day. Triana smiled at the thought she somehow maintained her poise even in her sleep.

Tan fingers gently rose to trail a feather-light touch over her jawline. Cassiopeia’s eyelids fluttered, then opened to reveal the raw garnets underneath. The blonde didn’t think it was possible to ever tire of looking at her eyes. That color existed only in the most exquisite gems.

“Hi.” Triana said, her voice hoarse from unuse.

“You’re awake.” Cassiopeia said, all traces of sleep gone as her back went rigid.

“It does come as a surprise.” The Shurima’s mouth curved in a not-quite-smile.

The Du Couteau’s jaw clenched. The lines of her throat tightened; her whole image turned guarded. She hid it well, but Triana could still make out the struggle in her eyes, torn between guilt and distrust, anger and relief and hurt. She took a moment longer than usual to speak up.

“…does it really surprise you?” The ice in her eyes contradicted the tiny waver to her voice.

Triana only nodded.

Cassiopeia’s claws dug into the sheets. The tension about her was so prominent it felt like something could snap at any moment. She was intimidating like that. But Triana knew… she was also _vulnerable_. 

“You… you’re so certain that I would have let you die.” It was a statement. Not a question.

Again, Triana nodded. It was alarming and alien to look at each other and know they could both see who the other person _was_. To know neither of them were as attractive on the inside as they were on the outside. A match made in darkness. Of course, Cassiopeia could plant and water a pretty lie between them, that this wasn’t the case at all, that Triana was not making sense and never should have doubted her. The blonde would even allow it.

But. It meant something that she went on with the ugly truth, instead.

“You’re right.” the noble admitted, tone almost tired, claws easing. “The only reason you woke up is because of Ashe and Katarina.” Because they were willing to take a risk she wasn’t. Because deep down, even with all the people the redheaded assassin must have killed, Triana could see that she was _good_.

She was good in a way Cassiopeia and she weren’t.

“That’s not very smart of them.” the blonde commented, which made the noble’s pretty lips part in surprise she didn’t mask in time. “Not what you were expecting? I told you we’re alike. We think alike. It’s both a good and a bad thing.” she said. Cassiopeia seemed speechless. “Did you think I would hate you for it?”

She was positive the other woman wasn’t breathing. “You don’t?” she asked it like it was impossible to believe.

“No.” Triana replied. Cassiopeia almost laughed, but only a breath came out. “I would have done the same.” She couldn’t explain why it was that admission that had the heiress so visibly _distressed_. “I don’t have any delusions about what we are. I like you –a lot even— but I wouldn’t put your life above my family, if they were still alive.”

Cassiopeia’s fangs sank into her bottom lip without breaking it. “Funny,” she began, a few seconds later. “It almost sounds like you would have preferred it if you didn’t survive.”

It was Triana’s turn to be called out on it. She hadn’t stopped to consider the notion, afraid of what she might find in herself. Afraid to realize that part of her, a big part of her, would be glad in that case. She would have died saving someone’s life. She may have lived as a monster, ruined far too many lives, but she would have died a hero. That was something, wasn’t it? The lies would have stopped. The pretending.

The hatred.

The world would be a better place without her in it, of that she had no doubt.

But she was alive. And that could only mean she was destined to proceed with her plan. The gods had their chance to stop her; their sure-fire way to preserve Valoran the way it was. They didn’t take it. So, if fate wasn’t against her, it was on her side.

“No.” Triana shook her head. “It just would have made me look cool.”

Cassiopeia’s lips quirked into the smallest of smiles. She still didn’t draw any closer, though. There was an invisible wall between them, keeping them apart. The Shuriman let out a sigh and carefully pushed her body into a sitting position.

“Will you come here?” she lowered her pride –a difficult task for her— enough to ask. Her voice sounded steadier than she felt.

Cassiopeia was hesitant as she inched closer. Triana gently took her wrist and pulled her beside her on the mattress. Tan arms came around a slim waist almost of their own volition. The Du Couteau lowered her chin to the blonde’s shoulder so slowly, like the mere act of touching her was a sin.

Neither moved for a while. Then clawed fingers traced up the line of Triana’s bare arm, to her uninjured shoulder –the blonde had to resist the urge to shiver pleasantly at the sensation— where they pressed against her skin, pushing her closer, as if that was possible. Tension slowly drained from Cassiopeia’s frame, leaving her soft in their loose embrace.

“How long have I been out for?” Triana asked, quiet.

“Two days.” the other woman mumbled in the crook of her neck.

“You haven’t slept at all, have you.” she said. While unconscious, in the back of her mind, she had been aware of a familiar presence beside her. It explained why Cassiopeia would slump into her like that, pride muted in the face of her exhaustion.

Before she could reply, however, the door _smacked_ open.

The pair jumped apart just as a very familiar, leather-clad figure confidently strolled in, her long hair flowing like crimson silk over her shoulder. Soraka was rushing to catch up to her from behind, as though to pull her out of the room, which, Triana guessed, she’d probably _shunpo’ed_ towards, against the healer’s orders.

“I didn’t interrupt anything, did I?” the assassin asked, her characteristic grin firmly in place as she waved with the bouquet of fresh white roses mixed with lavender in her right hand.

Triana’s ‘no’ came out at the same time as Cassiopeia’s ‘yes’.

Katarina shook the sour glances from both her sister and Soraka away. “It was a rhetorical question. You need sleep.” she pointed towards her sibling. “And you need to stop being so annoying as an enemy in the Rift.” her finger turned to the Starchild, who merely huffed, her fingers coming up to the bridge of her nose.

Triana offered Cassiopeia an encouraging smile. The youngest Du Couteau wasn’t pleased to step away from her, but eventually relented, standing to leave after one final caress of her collarbone.

Soraka escorted her out and the door closed once more.

The smirking, smug mask fell from Katarina’s face.

Triana regarded her, wary.

Two solid steps closed the distance between them as the assassin planted herself right in front of her on the bed. The flowers were left in the space separating them like both a warning and a peace offering.

“From Ashe, right?” Triana asked.

Katarina drew the faintest hint back. “How is that obvious?”

“You wouldn’t have brought me flowers and certainly not ones that mean ‘get better soon’.” came the reply colored in absolute certainty. The redhead grimaced, then silently agreed.

An uncomfortable beat of silence fell over the chamber.

“At the forest…” Katarina began. “What you did was incredibly…”

“Selfless? Brave?” Triana offered with a grin.

An unimpressed look was given back to her. “Fucking stupid.”

“So you decided to match me by doing something equally stupid back?” From any perspective, saving her life was not a wise move. They both knew there was nothing Katarina could do to assure her silence. One sentence to the world about her secret affair and her entire House was history. _How can you take that risk?_

“Exactly.” the redhead shrugged.

Triana suddenly felt restless. It felt wrong, it didn’t make _sense_ why Katarina would trust her so completely. She wanted to grab her by the lapel and tell her she was making a huge mistake, putting her faith, her very _life_ , in the hands of Shurima’s greatest _traitor_.

Her bitterness towards her own self came out as an acidic inquiry. “And, what? You’re here to tell me if I so much as breathe the wrong way I’ll find your knife lodged into my throat?”

Katarina looked at her in a strange way. Softer and far more understanding than she ever had. How a friend would look at another, knowing they were growing defensive, hurting, from their own past experiences. “No.” she replied. “I’m here to tell you to get your ass out of bed as fast as possible, because you are coming to Noxus with Cassiopeia and I for the winter holidays.”

Triana’s lips parted, but no sound came out.

_You can’t be serious._

…

Triana hovered over the black suitcase laid open in her bed, uneasy.

It was the fifth time she sighed in the past minute. Surely that was a new record. As was preparing and emptying a suitcase three times within a half-hour span. She’d like to think nothing truly got under her skin anymore, after all she experienced. But. If that were the case, she would not be so high-strung over Katarina’s proposition.

Even before the recent events, the offer would have made her sceptical. The Du Couteaus were a private sort and it was plain to see family, for them, stood above everything. Triana understood and respected them for it, for she was the same way. It didn’t seem right for a stranger to be invited to spend the holidays in their house. It didn’t seem right to be seen as more than a stranger, while still lying to their faces about who she was.

Triana couldn’t claim she wasn’t touched. She wouldn’t say that she’d prefer to be alone in the Institute, without Cassiopeia’s company, which had become the most interesting part of her routine. And yet, as she stared at her empty suitcase, zipping it right back up and pushing it under her bed seemed like the wisest option. The safest.

She had to protect herself from the Du Couteaus worming their way into her heart. She had to hold back from getting too close to the sun and in the end burning away… and burning _them_ away.

 _I ought to protect them from me._ was the decision she made when she picked up her phone from her desk. She hesitated a single second before calling Cassiopeia. They weren’t on bad terms, but there was an underlying tension in the air after that confrontation at the hospital.

The other line beeped a few times. Then a familiar velvety voice was calling her name, twisting her stomach into knots in both a good and a bad way. _“Triana? Nice timing, I was just thinking of calling you.”_

“Great minds think alike.” she said, a genuine smile warming her lips.

 _“How is your shoulder? Are you in any pain?”_ Cassiopeia asked.

Triana rolled the recently healed muscles to test their response. “It’s a little stiff, but I’m fine.”

_“If you need help with packing…”_

“Yeah, about that.” she spoke up before the noble could continue. “I… can’t come with you guys. I’ve got some things to take care of, so. But I do hope you have fun and come back rested and refreshed.” the words rolled easily off her tongue. She drowned the disappointed side of her somewhere deep within.

 _“Oh.”_ but Cassiopeia didn’t. _“Well, that’s…”_ she trailed off. _“If you say so.”_ Another short pause. _“…are you lying?”_

“Yes.” Triana didn’t know what possessed her to speak the truth. Perhaps the constant lying was starting to chip away at her. She felt _tired_ of it.

_“Why?”_

“I have no place in the Du Couteau house, Cassiopeia.” she said simply. _I shouldn’t have one._

There was a subtle inhale on the other line. Triana could easily picture the champion shift her weight on her tail. _“Maybe not.”_ she said. The blonde ignored the ache in her chest, telling herself she was glad they were on the same page. _“But I… want you there.”_ was said so quietly, Triana almost missed it.

Her heart did a weird stutter in her chest.

For once, she didn’t have anything to say. The desire to be close to Cassiopeia battled with the urge to flee and never look back.

Triana realized how unusually quiet she must have gotten when the noblewoman spoke up again; _“Tell me you’ll come with me.”_ there was a ‘please’ that never could be said, implied by that tone.

“I…” _Can’t. Tell her you can’t._ “…will.” the Shuriman’s resolve cracked like weak glass.

_I’m screwed._

_…_

Triana lifted Cassiopeia’s unreasonably heavy baggage into the limousine.

The driver cast her a thankful look under his black shades, before re-assuming his stoic expression. The door was then held open for both the champion and summoner. When it closed, they were alone in the warm, luxurious saloon, surrounded by leather and finery. As the engine roared to life, Triana cast her eyes over the golden beauty of the Institute once more.

At one corner of the massive yard, a cold, blue light flared, for only a second. The Shuriman could feel Xerath’s gaze on her, heavy and disapproving, for far longer than she would admit. It didn’t let her rest, nor be at peace with the buzzing excitement of sharing days uninterrupted by work with her subject of interest.

One hour into the drive, Cassiopeia’s hand came to rest on her taut stomach. Hazel turned to meet curious, sparkling lime. “Stop thinking.”

Triana almost said they weren’t the type of people who could do that, but pressed her lips together, instead. She had burnt herself out with overthinking and the whole point of getting away from the league was to leave its hectic pace behind. _The damage has already been done._ she mused, leaning fully back in her seat.

_I can worry about it later._

She didn’t expect Cassiopeia’s head to rest against her shoulder. The silken caress of her hair tickled Triana’s neck as she got comfortable. The mage’s arm circled her shoulders, fingers absently tracing the pattern of her blouse so they would resist the temptation of toying with her rich brown locks.

Triana gazed out the window as forests gave way to cities, then back to lush green. As yellow turned to orange in the sky, which then began to fade into dark blue. Nothing on the outside, however, could compare to the way the all those colors and highlights shined on Cassiopeia’s pretty face.

The Shuriman had began to dose off, as well, when the limousine finally came to a stop before a grand mansion. Hazel eyes blinked open, then did a double take.

The entire property was surrounded by a thick, brick grey fence, cut off at the forefront, to allow for an intimidating gate made of pure obsidian. The edges at its top ended in black lances, while the proud symbol in the middle was carved with remarkable detail –the Du Couteau crest. 

A straight path paved the way to a small set of three stairs, leading to the front door. Triana could feel that there were powerful wards set up around the darkly elegant residence, dampening magic and creating a barrier that repelled any means of teleportation for several meters around.

Cassiopeia’s chuckle broke her out of her thoughts. “It’s much better from up close.” she said, gracefully slipping out of her seat and stretching her neck. The fluidity of the movement magnetized Triana’s eye. “Come.” her palm was extended for the summoner to take. But it wasn’t the welcoming gesture, or the newfound lightness to her tone that rooted the blonde in place.

It was her expression.

It was the inner light in her gorgeous eyes, which had nothing to do with their natural glow in the night. It was her smile, showing a perfect row of pearly teeth and pointy fangs that had no right being that attractive on anyone. She had never seen Cassiopeia so… free.

Excited.

Triana let herself be pulled out of the car and led forward, to the porch. The noblewoman rang the bell and waited…

The door opened to reveal a finely-dressed, middle-aged lady, with her blonde hair pulled into a loose bun and the kindest pair of brown eyes Triana had come across, looking them over. They went wide with sheer, unrestrained _joy_ at the sight of Cassiopeia—

Overcome by raw elation the woman stepped in to hug her, though paused at the last second. The champion nodded that it was okay and leaned towards her. The embrace was brief, but Triana was unable to shake off the image of a mother figure and her long-lost child.

“Lady Cassiopeia!” the woman exclaimed. Tears bloomed at the corners of her eyes. “My, you look _beautiful_.” she said, the words clearly coming from the very bottom of her heart.

“Freya.” Cassiopeia smiled, addressing the woman so warmly she looked like another person entirely. “Allow me to introduce you to Triana.”

“Of course, welcome! I have heard _all_ about you from Lady Katarina.” Freya spoke, taking a tan hand in both of hers. “Although I saw you at the match versus Demacia, you are even more stunning up close!”

“Thank you.” Triana’s lips curved up.

Freya stepped to the side to allow them in. Three sets of smiles and eyes, dark, green and icy blue, were awaiting them at the living room. It was strange to see Talon, Katarina and Ashe in casual clothes rather than their combat outfits she was so used to, but at the same time… it was nice.

“Finally! Now the real holidays can begin.” Katarina grinned at them, positively beaming. “Welcome to our humble abode, Triana.”

“It’s about as humble as you are.” she replied with a faint roll of her eyes.

Ashe stepped forward to greet her, then, all the beauty and charm of Freljord combined into a single, slim figure. Her hand was cool when Triana politely took it, the way she was taught was proper to treat princesses and queens. “We didn’t meet under the most ideal of circumstances, but I wanted to talk to you for some time, Triana.”

“I have to admit, I never would have thought _this_ was the reason why Katarina choked on her drink every time your name came up in a conversation.” Triana commented. Cassiopeia and Talon exchanged secretive smirks. Ashe’s softness transformed into a sideways sly look at her girlfriend.

“I did not _choke_ , you asshole.” Katarina smacked her head playfully.

“Now you show your true colors.” Triana chuckled. “Hit critical mass for niceness already?”

“Be careful getting on my wrong side. Your stay here can become _very_ unfun.” Katarina smirked good-naturedly at her. “Just ask Talon.”

“It’s true. Growing up with her is one of the most traumatic experiences of my life.” the man deadpanned.

“Dinner is going to be interesting; I can already tell.” Cassiopeia huffed as she moved towards Freya. 

Triana joined the others at the couches for a while longer, trading jabs back and forth, listening to Katarina and Talon try to outdo the other like the dysfunctional siblings they always had been. Ashe sat next to her and asked about her shoulder with a gentle, chilly hand over the area. From there, their conversation drifted to how she got together with Noxus’ most infamous assassin. Ten minutes in and it was plain to see why Katarina fell so hard for her.

Ashe radiated _light_.

She effortlessly cast it over those around her. Her presence alone offered so _much_ to the household.

Triana thought she should do something for them, in return. An idea she filed for later, as they were called for dinner.

…

She had forgotten what it was like, being part of a family.

Eating together, laughing together, drawing strength and comfort from the simple act of sitting around the same table. Triana’s throat closed up at the thought. Instinctively, she looked away from Freya’s kind eyes and blonde locks, which reminded her far too much of her own mother’s. 

Cassiopeia had never talked to her about the maid, but after seeing how she gazed upon her and Katarina, how they looked _back_ at her, Triana didn’t think anything needed to be said. They were too proud and too hurt to allow themselves to think of her as a mother. Subconsciously, however, it was clear they did. They would kill for her, anything and everything that dared to harm her. She would die to protect them. 

When they were done eating and enjoying their very expensive wine, Freya stood to take care of the dishes. As soon as she disappeared two rooms down, a different aura fell over the table. A more serious one, born by Katarina taking a deep breath and saying:

“We need to talk about how to proceed with the Bertholds.” Gone was the playfulness from her eyes. In its place lay something hard, like coals, sizzling with anger.

“They didn’t leave themselves many options.” Talon spoke, leaning menacingly forward.

“Wait— you don’t mean…” Ashe began.

“They have to be taught a harsh lesson.” Cassiopeia continued, the more refined way of saying they needed to drown in their own blood. Narrowed, glacial garnets didn’t hide her cruel intentions, though, which went beyond simply assassinating one or two core figures for exemplification. 

“There is a saying in Noxus –nobody crosses a Du Couteau.” Talon backed her up.

“Talon, you and I will pay a visit to their mansion in the early hours of the morning.” Katarina said, lightly turning her empty wine glass. The man nodded, fully prepared. Ashe’s forehead creased with lines, the disapproval painted on her face. “I didn’t want to say this behind your back. But you know how things are here –and they dug their own grave.” the redhead told her lover. 

“Yes, but taking the fight to their _house_?” Ashe asked. “There are innocents there. There may be _children_.”

“And they will be fine so long as they don’t get in the way.” Katarina said back, deadly in her seriousness.

“And what if they _do_?” the queen asked, voice going up, filling with the ice she was known to command. The assassin didn’t answer that, yet the answer was clear.

Triana didn’t speak. It wasn’t her place to, but Cassiopeia did steal a glance at her to see how _she_ was handling the matter. 

“I know this is hard for you to hear. But you are part of this house now and you must.” the youngest Du Couteau said to the archer. “When someone goes for your eye in Noxus, they either take it and hang it up as a pretty trophy or they lose _both_ of theirs. There is no middle ground.”

“They sent about two dozen of their men after us.” Katarina continued. “They have to lose at _least_ that much.”

Ashe shook her head and leaned back in her seat, unable to consent to it.

Uncomfortable, electrically charged silence reigned supreme.

“Imagine someone went after your own family.” Triana spoke up. All eyes turned to her. “Imagine they _burned_ down your home. That they slaughtered the most precious thing you _had_.” darkness seeped into her words. She could not recall many things from Shurima, the memories blurred in the passage of time. But she could remember that scene with such scathingly clear detail. “Would you let them go?”

Ashe bit the inside of her cheek… but she shook her head. “No.”

“I won’t harm anyone who had no part in this.” Katarina promised.

It was the closest to acceptance they could get to. Freya soon returned and the Du Couteaus put on their most beautiful smiles for the woman once more. Cassiopeia reached for Triana's hand and gave a subtle cock of her chin towards the living room.

“Triana and I are going to retire for the night.” she said.

The two of them walked to the large, carpeted staircase leading to the upper floor. Cassiopeia rested a palm on the small of her back and guided her up and to the right, into a big corridor once again splitting into two directions.

“Katarina’s room is the farthest, that way. Mine, on the opposite side.” she explained. “You can choose any of the three available guest rooms, though I do recommend this one.” a delicate gesture of her hand pointed to a door close to hers. “It has the best view of the side garden and sunrise.”

Triana took her word for it. She reached for the handle… and pure luxury met her on the other side. The floor was dark tile, like most of the house, yet this one had a navy hue to it. The bed was made in reds that accented the dark wood furniture; the curtains of the large windows drawn to welcome the moonlight in. 

“Wooow.” Triana breathed, looking excitedly about the space before sitting on the bed. It had to be the most comfortable mattress she’d tried in a _while_. Unzipping and kicking off her boots, she laid back into the embrace of the plush red pillows with a satisfied smile.

Cassiopeia sat on the edge, leaning slightly towards her, though not enough to shadow her or cage her in. Her hair, deep, dark brown in the night, fell to expose one side of her slender neck, an attractiveness that was living art, a breathing painting. The quirk of her lip was amused, a little tempted, a tad curious. “You look like a languid cat, Triana.”

“Pet me and I may even purr.” the blonde challenged.

Cassiopeia lifted a perfectly arched eyebrow, eyes glinting in the dark. “Tempting.” she whispered, drawing the back of a cool claw down her arm. Triana’s body immediately lit and sang for her. “I wanted to ask you something.” she said, drawing her gorgeous eyes up the mage’s body and to her own. There was something so genuine in the way she looked at her, then. “Do you think I’m a monster?”

“What?” Triana was _not_ expecting that.

“Not physically.” Cassiopeia clarified, completely casual about her appearance for the first time since Triana had met her. “I know you’re suicidal to the point of making it a kink and you’re attracted to me.” the blonde laughed at that, receiving an eye-roll and a smirk in return, which evaporated quickly. “I mean as a whole. Do you?”

“No. Did the conversation at the table bring this on…?” she asked, cautious. It was ironic to her that Cassiopeia was asking if the biggest monster of all saw her as one.

“Maybe.” the noble replied. “Because I wasn’t entirely honest at dinner.” she said. “Katarina won’t kill the women and children and Talon has to be specifically ordered to do it. But all three of us know what must be done. We cannot leave a Berthold alive to grow and one day seek revenge for their assassinated father or uncle. I will not allow a future threat to my House if I can eliminate it early on.”

Of course, Triana already knew that.

She’d once done the same.

“So you can be certain even if my sister doesn’t do it, I will hunt them down and I will leave only poison in the face of their bloodline for what they’ve done.” Cassiopeia said, as simply as one would talk about the weather. “And now I ask again. How could you want me to touch you, knowing this is what I am?”

“I understand why you’ll do it. And for me, your reasons are valid.” Triana said. “You are _not_ a monster just because you have to act as one, Cassiopeia.”

_I’m the only monster in this room._

The noble pressed her lips together, nodding quietly. “I thought you’d say that.”

She then leaned closer, supporting her weight on her forearm, her lips hovering tantalizingly over Triana’s. They stayed like that for a hot moment, tasting the anticipation until they finally kissed. Cool to hot, like snow meeting and melting onto sun-warmed sand. There was only sensation and liquid heat as their mouths slid together in a well-practiced dance. Cassiopeia licked past her bottom lip to taste her, wine and berry lipgloss. 

When Triana made to pull her closer by the waist, the noble gently pressed on her chest and drew back. They did have a long trip and it was late. As much as arousal was overshadowing fatigue, it was probably best not to continue if they didn’t want to end up crossing a rule.

“Don’t look at me like that.” Cassiopeia said in a breathy little warning, tilting her chin, mindful of her claws.

“Yes?” Triana smirked. “Why not?”

The noble leaned in once more, to her ear, that time, her scent filling Triana’s lungs like a drug she couldn’t stop seeking more of. Needing more of.

“Because it turns me _on_.” she whispered. The coo of her voice echoed right down the Shuriman’s spine.

Then she pulled back for good, no contact between them, a sly smile on her lips as she bid her goodnight. “Sweet dreams.”

“I don’t know about ‘sweet’, but yes, same.” the mage huffed, watching her go.

It took her a while to calm enough to consider sleep.

But her mind insisted on bringing up the scene from earlier, at the dinner table. She could sense the conflict in Katarina and Talon back there. She could see Ashe’s distress at what her lover had to do. The archer was far too good to be okay with it. At the same time, she was aware they didn’t have another option. Weakness in Noxus was practically a crime. Weakness to act, unforgivable.

The Bertholds declared war. It would only end in the total elimination of one side. No loose ends could be left –and Cassiopeia was the only one with the stomach to admit it.

Triana sat up on the bed and looked out the window, at the cold, starless night.

Ashe was a ray of light in the residence. Her existence was a gift in of itself. But Triana? Triana didn’t have such brightness to repay the Du Couteaus with, for all they had given her.

She could not give them kindness, or even genuineness.

All she could offer was _blood_. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did anyone say wholesome Du Couteau moments with the whole fam? Yes, Yes, indeed. Finally, Ashe is here. And yes, soon she'll have her own alone time with Katarina and bonding time with Triana. Triana and Cassiopeia are taking babysteps into slipping off the mask. And Cass is shocked to realize that the blonde not only desired her physically despite the curse, but won't run away seeing the real her, past the sugar-coated words and pretty lies. Which is a first for her, because despite her appearance, Cassiopeia's relationships always suffered from her personality and the choices she had to make in her line of work. 
> 
> I cannot stress enough how much your input and comments mean to me. Many kudos to everyone still with me on this longfic journey!


	21. Chapter 21

**[Triana]**

The night was pitch-black. Cold.

Tiny spikes of frost prickled along Triana’s thin, black-hooded outfit, as she made her way across the many thick bridges of Noxus’ capital, to where a bribed guard had informed her the Berthold residence was.

Compared to the rest of the kingdom, crammed and oppressive, the ring reserved for the rich and powerful was completely different. Each extravagant mansion was almost isolated, in a bubble of influence all its own and nothing near big enough to overshadow it. Closest to the major nobles were minor ones, the more prominent Houses literally as far away from each other as possible, yet all forming a loose sort-of circle around Noxus’ proudest construct, the Immortal Bastion.

Unlike with the Du Couteaus, whose ground lacked guards and noise, so quiet it was almost eerie, the Bertholds’ area was surrounded by patrols sporting the House’s crest. At first, Triana observed their patterns from afar. Gradually, she began to inch closer, camouflaged in every shadow.

A pull in her magic notified her of the powerful wards set up around the place. No wonder the mercenaries seemed so calm, lulled into a false sense of safety by the surrounding dampeners, barriers and the power of the House they served. Stripped of their shunpo, Katarina and Talon would have had a difficult time getting inside unnoticed. Luckily, Triana’s version of the rapid teleport was completely unaffected.

She willed what little magic she could conjure out of her hands, into tiny, ghostly blades. Due to the damned wards, they were barely a few centimetres long and drained her mana reserves far faster than she would have liked to admit. _But they will do the job until I get a real weapon._

The outer patrol, furthest from all others, was the first to fall.

The two men didn’t even see her coming as she swooped down on them like a hawk whose talons were poised for the first and final strike. Triana examined their impractical long swords and crossbows. Opted for taking the knives at their belt, instead, her preferred weapon since ancient times. Quick, light, soundless.

One small twirl tested the weight of the blades in her hand. Measuring her following throw, she took a sharp turn at the next wall, casting the knives at the heads of the two guards ahead of her. Before their bodies could hit the ground and create even the faintest of sounds, she blinked to their position and lowered their corpses down with her magic.

Her approach was switched up at the next pair, a group of four, who she simply ambushed from the dark, slitting their throats before they could even gasp. _And these guys are paid to keep a clan safe? Laughable._

When Triana was certain only one remained, the heavily armored mercenary at the very porch of the mansion, she mentally undid the seal keeping back her more frightening set of powers. She felt the burning rush in her veins at her right side, reaching all the way from her heart to her arm, to her eye. She didn’t need to look at her reflection to know its appearance was altered, from clear hazel to an inhuman, shimmering, slitted green.

So close to the mansion, Triana could hear music and noise from the inside. If she had to guess, the Bertholds were having some kind of celebration. What they didn’t know was it would be their last.

Another blink; and her knife was pushed into the throat of the front guard. He gasped and tried to scream –but no sound came. “Shh.” Triana commanded as she channeled her dark magic through the blade, past the wound.

The man’s eyes widened, possibly feeling his control leave his dying body. His pupils expanded and he was trapped in her petrifying gaze. Only hers, unlike Cassiopeia’s, did not affect the body. It targeted the mind –the _soul_.

“Now, I’m sure you have a way to get me in through the back.” she said. The thrall nodded. “Sadly, our time together is limited, so I want you to walk me right in, to where your master is.”

The man led the way to the back entrance in hurried steps. As ordered, he used his key to get her inside and showed her the way right behind the massive feast at the main hall, to a set of stairs leading to the balcony above.

“Good. You’re free to go out and die.” 

A zombie-like nod. The mercenary walked outside stiffly.

Some heads from the celebration turned towards her, but after seeing the guard escort her in, nobody paid her any mind. They probably thought her an agent come to share information with the House’s head, rather than someone there to murder them all.

A young man, more than a little buzzed from his drinks, stood on a chair to make a proposition. The rest of the beautifully dressed women and men in suits raised their glasses towards him.

Triana casually walked up the stairs. Right behind the balcony, there was a spacey corridor leading to what she guessed was an office. The decorated door there was left slightly agape, a soft light coming from within. She made the mistake of peeking past the opening…

Gerome Berthold was behind his desk, slumped back in his chair, eyes closed and mouth agape in orgasmic bliss. A slight layer of sweat clung to his thinned white hair and the part of his chest visible through his unbuttoned shirt. A woman young enough to be his granddaughter was knelt between his legs …and Triana was suddenly very thankful for the noise coming from one level below.

 _Gross_.

The doors were pushed open without any hesitation. The man’s expression shifted rapidly, to alarm, then to rage, as the girl leapt apart from him, bringing a hand over her mouth.

“Well, hello there.” Triana said.

“Who in the nine hells are _you_?! _How_ did you get in here?!” came the wide-eyed demand.

“I’ll answer that. But, first.” the mage turned to the girl. “Sweetheart, are you a Berthold, or just here for the money?”

The escort stuttered. “N-No, I-I’m not a noble.”

“Good.” A charming smile was sent her way, though it wasn’t easy to make out under the mask reaching up to the bridge of Triana’s nose. Before Gerome could yell for his men, the blonde teleported onto his desk, right up to his face, her knife pressed so tightly to his throat blood beaded up, licked a red line across the length of the blade. The woman took a breath to scream, but one deadly glare from her slayed the words right on her tongue. “ _Don’t_.”

Gerome was sweating for an entirely different reason, then. In her lizard-like eye, he could see his death. His hand went to reach for the blade under his desk, but Triana cut him a little deeper in warning.

“Listen, you greedy, useless bastard.” she hissed. “I want you to know this is all _your_ fault. I was willing to let it slide when you sent your assassin after me. I didn’t want to waste my time with you. But then, you had to go and fuck it all _up_.” Because he had to have more. More power. More influence. More than what the Du Couteaus had gained.

With men like him, it was always about having _more_.

 _Just like back then. Just like…_ His greed, so evident in his eyes still, reminded her of someone. _Emperors and kings have different forms and titles now, after two thousand years. But_ nothing’s _changed._

Looking at his pug face so close up had her _appalled_.

“Your decisions brought their end. _You_ killed your entire clan tonight.”

And with that, her blade dug and cut across his skin.

The woman screamed, but Triana was faster, having blinked to her and covered her mouth tightly with her gloved hand. She made a ‘shush’ motion with a finger to her lips, just as the body on their left _thumped_ onto the floor.

“You were cooperative enough, so you can live.” she said. “Only if you run away right now and never look back. Am I understood?”

The escort nodded, rapidly, fat tears in her eyes.

Triana had barely let her hand drop to her side when the woman dashed for the door. _Smart one_. The sound of the mage’s voice, however, stopped her cold in her tracks.

“But do me a favor;” she spoke up.

“A-Anything you want.” the terrified girl replied, shaking like a leaf.

“Tomorrow, when they ask you what happened to this House… I want you to tell them Katarina Du Couteau sent her _regards_.”

…

Even after the warm shower she took, Triana hadn’t been able to sleep a wink.

She watched as the numbers shifted on the digital clock at her nightstand, until it was an acceptable time to rise and dress up for her day. At the quiet, cool hallway, hazel eyes focused on Cassiopeia’s closed door. She didn’t want to disturb her rest –gods knew how she needed it— so Triana made her way down the stairs, instead.

The heavenly scent of freshly brewed coffee tickled her nose. The Shuriman followed it to the kitchen, where Freya was quietly humming to herself, preparing breakfast.

“Good morning.” she greeted from the threshold, which made the maid jump. “Oh—I’m sorry.”

“No, no. It’s just… you walk like a phantom.” Freya commented, a hand pressed to her heart.

“You have two assassins in the house.” Triana smirked.

“Who both lack _any_ subtlety or grace in the mornings.” Warm, brown eyes rolled. The summoner couldn’t argue with that part. She’d seen how grumpy Katarina was before her daily dose of caffeine.

“Do you need help with anything?” she offered.

Freya paused mid-way of preparing a particularly fancy cup of coffee. She gazed upon her for a moment, then stepped closer to lay a gentle hand on her shoulder. The smile that blossomed on her full lips was downright _lovely_. Soft, caring. It stunned the Shuriman to silence. “My, you and Ashe both are _such_ polite girls. The Ladies have great taste.”

Triana opened her mouth, but no sound came, at first. “No, I’m—” being compared to someone as bright as Ashe was just plain _wrong_. “I mean I’m not—”

Freya merely chuckled, a light, airy sound. The sweet-smelling cappuccino was then pressed to her hands, followed by a tilt of the woman’s chin towards the back hallway of the mansion. “This is for Lady Cassiopeia. She’s at the garden, right that way. You can’t miss it.” was said encouragingly.

 _Of course she’s already up._ Triana nodded her thanks and made her way to the next room, walked down a dark corridor, until its walls gave way to glass, then to the beautiful back gardens. The collection of flowers and colors there gave her pause. Compared to the rest of the house, so strict and rigid, the hidden beauty at its depths was a stark contradiction. A perfect analogy for the mansion’s residents themselves.

Cassiopeia was there, seated at a stone bench overlooking a small pond, vibrant red roses painting her background. She was almost ethereal under the petal-soft morning light, like a spirit from an Ionian tale rather than a human being. She seemed both at peace and at war with herself all at once and Triana wasn’t sure if she should disturb her.

But lime eyes fell upon her and there was no turning back. “Good morning.” the noble said with a faint smile. “Sleep well?”

“Well enough.” Triana replied, taking a seat beside her, not to close and not too far. The bench was cold. “Freya sent me on a mission to deliver this to you.” She handed the steaming cup over.

Cassiopeia took a deep breath. The coffee must have been just right for that pleased look to have flashed over her features. “Freya _always_ gets it perfect.” Yet again, when it fell, there was an echoing sadness in her eyes.

“…Would you rather we talk later?” The blonde asked, blunt. She couldn’t shake the feeling she had stepped deep into something private. Sacred. Their relationship –if it could be called one without either of them panicking— was based on respecting boundaries.

“No.” Cassiopeia said, claws coming to curl around her elbow, controlled, never harming her. “Unless you’re cold.”

Triana shook her head. It was chilly, but not overly so. Hazel eyes roamed around the calm scenery. “Rhododendrons and roses, huh.” There were others, too, but it was hard not to notice the dominating presence of the two types.

“My mother’s favorites.” Cassiopeia shared. _Ah, now it all makes sense._ Triana looked down, between them. “This garden was once filled with exotic flowers. Most wilted after her… passing.” She did not use the word ‘assassination’. She refused to say ‘poisoning’.

“My mother had a deep appreciation for flowers, too.” Triana reminisced. “She insisted on watering them all herself around the temple.”

It _hurt_ to remember. One moment there were lilies and waters and serenity.

The next, _ashes_.

“Temple, hm.” Cassiopeia commented. “Was she a priestess?”

Triana closed up faster than a bear-trap. A fake smile, practiced to look attractive, slid to her lips. “Something like that.”

“Relax, Triana.” the champion said. “I won’t push.”

“I like pushing. In different matters.” The curve of the blonde’s lips turned devilish, prompting a curious look from her partner.

“Do you, now.” Cassiopeia’s fingers wrapped around her elbow again, a tad firmer as they demanded her nearer. “I had no idea.” Which, of course, was a lie. She had a _very_ good idea of what the mage liked.

It would be _so_ easy to lean forward and kiss her pretty lips, Triana was thinking the entire time. Before she knew it, she was doing exactly that. Cassiopeia’s mouth always felt so satiny soft and smooth, pressing and sucking at _just_ the right way. Kissing her made it all go away. Thoughts, worries, dark intentions drained to nothingness. It felt like a blessing. A sanctuary.

Triana pretended to be a lot of things she wasn’t. Pretended she wasn’t a lot of things that she was.

But she was not pretending how absolutely enamored she was with every little thing about Cassiopeia Du Couteau.

**[Katarina]**

She was pacing across the living room. Talon, forever her total counterpart, sat perfectly still on the couch.

“So, you’re saying by the time you got there…” Cassiopeia began, just to clarify.

“They were already dead.” Katarina stated.

“ _All_ of them.” Talon added, the astonishment in his voice evident. Not many sights in the world were capable of leaving him that way. The two of them had seen a lot of blood, growing up. They had _spilled_ an ocean of blood. But what they witnessed in the Berthold mansion…

It was intense.

It looked like a hurricane had swept over the place, leaving nothing in its wake. Like an army of demons had swarmed in for their own feast, chasing down every last breath of life until they had completely extinguished it. An entire clan, drowned in _red_.

Katarina could almost see their final moments as she stood over their bodies. A celebration that was turned into a nightmare. People running for their lives, their screams etched into their faces, growing colder by the minute. Men trying to protect their women only to fail and join them in death, girls and boys reaching for their parents in their final moments.

It was different walking _into_ such a sight, rather than leaving it behind her.

Jarring, in a way she’d never thought it would be, considering she had caused such gruesome scenes before. Hers had been the hand and the blade cutting people apart under her father’s orders. She didn’t question if they deserved it. She didn’t take good looks at their faces, didn’t wonder their age, or what they could have become. She wouldn’t be able to go through with it if she stopped to _think_. 

Assassins didn’t allow themselves to _feel_ during a job. If they did, that job would never be completed.

“Perhaps the Bertholds made more enemies than they could handle.” Cassiopeia mused. “Nobody stood up to take credit for the job yet, though… which is strange. It’s almost like whoever did it is working in our favor.”

“No such thing as an unpaid favor in Noxus.” Talon commented.

“We’ll see.” Cassiopeia shrugged. “Katarina, cheer up, will you. That scowl will become permanent if it lingers any longer.” she said. “There is no reason for it. This is a _good_ thing for us.”

It was a good thing.

It just didn’t feel like one.

Because it seemed so much like she did it, she was starting to doubt it herself if she really didn’t. 

Katarina loved fighting. She loved being the best at what she did, a one-woman army, a whirling terror. Unmatched. It was exhilarating to shred entire Demacian battalions by herself. But that wasn’t the case when it came to people who couldn’t fight back. Who happened to be at the wrong place in the wrong time, who saw too much, overheard too much, who were just born someone’s son or daughter and had to die for it.

There were innocents even among the corrupt Bertholds, swept up in the war one greedy asshole started. Directly or indirectly, Katarina _killed_ them.

Throughout the entire conversation, she purposely kept her back turned to the person seated in the armchair behind her. She didn’t want to see if Ashe believed her. Didn’t think she could handle it if she didn’t, if there was disgust in her endlessly blue gaze.

She wanted to turn around. To look at her.

But she didn’t.

Instead, she left for the training room.

…

Katarina had mixed feelings about the space she found herself in.

Part of her would always consider it her natural habitat. Her real home in her mansion. It was where she spent most of her time growing up, after all, under the scrutinizing gaze of her father. Every weapon, target, mannequin and equipment was awfully familiar… and accompanied by awful memories at the same time. It was an environment safe in its familiarity… but it was also a prison.

She couldn’t leave until she had gotten every move perfect, once. She couldn’t, because then the General’s other disciples would prove more dedicated than her, better suited for the job. Better suited for the number one spot. Being tied to Marcus by blood meant little when it came to the raw potential of an assassin. She would either stand at the top with him proud to call her his daughter …or she would be _replaced_.

And right then, going over the same practiced motions and _shunpos_ all over the massive space, it was almost painfully apparent what she had become in that very same room.

Ashe made her see what she’d lost. What she’d shed, to be who she needed to be. She was the one who insisted Katarina wasn’t the monster she had accepted she was. And that felt good.

But it wasn’t true.

_It isn’t true._

Hours later, the assassin was breathing hard over a completely torn training dummy, sweat glistening over her arms and exposed midriff, running in faint drip-drops down her chin. Her swords were left on the weapons’ rack, among countless other blades. Tired but in control of herself once more, she grabbed her towel and made for her room.

The shower had been running for a few minutes, warm waterdrops soothing the ache of her muscles, when she heard the distinct click of the door opening. Light footsteps followed, coming closer, closer. They stopped just outside the fogged glass. Emerald eyes turned to see a blurry blue-and-white figure, leaned against the sink.

“ _What_?” she asked, rude, hoping it would convey that she was better left alone.

Of course, Ashe never did back away from her temper. “Can we talk?” she asked in her airy, silvery voice.

“In here?”

“You won’t do it outside.” the archer replied knowingly. Katarina _tsked_. That woman knew her entirely too well.

“What makes you think I’ll do it now?” she replied. But they both knew the glass between them made all the difference. If it wasn’t for that, the redhead would have just told her to go away.

Ashe took an exasperated breath. Paused. “I believe you, you know?” she spoke. Katarina’s hand, braced on the humid tiles of the shower, slid down. “It’s sad that you think I wouldn’t.”

“Whether you believe me or not doesn’t matter.” Katarina said back. “Because whether I did it doesn’t matter. I _would_ have. _That’s_ what I went there for.” An uncomfortable beat passed between them. “And you’ll never be okay with that. Don’t even lie about it.”

“No, I won’t.” Well, that felt a lot like a stab to the chest. “But I knew the things you’ve done before I wanted to be with you. It would be naïve to think an assassin wouldn’t have to kill again.” Ashe said. “I’m no saint myself, remember?”

_You sure look and act like one, though._

“And even if I was, I’d still understand. I’ve seen what it’s like, living in Noxus. So many wrongs can’t make a right.” Katarina’s jaw clenched. She didn’t like hearing that. She didn’t fucking like the fact that she was starting to see that, herself.

The faucets were turned and the waterdrops ceased. The assassin shamelessly pushed the sliding door to the side, finally seeing Ashe’s beautiful profile. The queen handed her the towel without looking. It was cute, how her eyes were defiantly kept at a random spot across from them while Katarina made a _show_ of drying herself up.

“You look a little red.” she commented, a slight smirk curling her lip as she reached _around_ Ashe for the blow-dryer.

“It must be the steam.” she replied with a casual shrug, but she did steal a tiny glance at her toned shoulders.

“ _Suuure_ it is.” Katarina drew out the word.

“It is. I’ll wait for you outside.” the archer waved quickly and was out the door.

…

Her room smelled like Ashe’s perfume, was the first thing Katarina noticed as she closed the bathroom door behind her. The queen was leaning back on her bed, busy with her phone, until she approached and sat next to her, clad in loose pants and a tight-fitting, black blouse.

Sapphires gazed into jade. Long, pale fingers reached up between them, to the assassin’s jaw, then to the crimson locks shadowing it. They pushed just a tad in, through the crimson waterfall, slowly drawing down. Katarina resisted the urge to shiver at the feel of Ashe’s nails on her nape and upper back.

“You’re still so tense.” she stated quietly.

“I’m fine.” The redhead went to avert her gaze, but Ashe leaned forward, kept her chin in place.

“Don’t push me away.” was said, both an order and a plea.

The white-haired beauty folded her legs under her and gently tugged Katarina back, until she was laying on the mattress next to her. She took off her boots and turned around, throwing a graceful leg over her thighs to straddle her.

It wasn’t something the assassin saw often, Ashe sitting on top of her so comfortably, like she was on her throne. She looked _glorious_ , utterly captivating under the soft light coming in through the closed curtains, illuminating her hair like a halo. It was like having an angel perched on top, but angels weren’t supposed to look so sensual.

Tempted, Katarina leaned up to kiss her neck, but cool hands on her torso pressed her right back down. “Stay like that.” a confident little smirk accented her words. The redhead licked her lips hungrily, though didn’t move.

White hair fell around them as Ashe leaned down. She hovered over Katarina’s mouth, yet didn’t give her what she wanted, even as the redhead tilted her chin up to brush their lips together.

“And you think this making me less tense?” the assassin asked throatily, receiving only a smile in return, in the form of chilly, cotton lips pressing behind her jaw. They gradually warmed as they kissed down her neck. Lingered on her pulse to give a suck that had Katarina’s nails digging into her lover's hips. 

When she was certain her hands wouldn’t freeze her skin, Ashe slipped them under her blouse, pushing it up as she went. Katarina’s instincts and kindled want had her instinctively trying to roll them over, but the thighs around her tightened to keep her still.

“I said _stay_.” Ashe’s teeth on her earlobe made the assassin see red. She closed her eyes and tried to regulate her breathing, like she was taught when she was still working on her _shunpo_.

The same fingers driving her mad trailed down to the waistband of her pants, drawing it down. They both gasped at the first slide of them over wet heat. Ashe rocked down onto her, letting out a soft moan by her ear that Katarina desperately needed to hear again.

The queen’s free hand came up to the side of her neck, caressing the burning skin there. Their lips stayed close without locking, parted and occasionally sliding over the other, in time with their movements. Katarina’s fingers found the zipper of Ashe’s jeans and pulled it down, entering her so easily it was almost accidental.

“Let go, let go, I _love_ you.” Ashe panted into her mouth.

That, combined with the way she moved and the sounds she made, urged Katarina’s core tense to a breaking point. Then she released all at once, a drawn-out, breathless moment, her mind blank and simultaneously filled with Ashe. How she smelled, how she tasted, how soft she felt _everywhere_.

By the time they caught their breath, the archer was caressing her jaw and Katarina’s eyes fell closed of their own accord. Her hands traced a path up Ashe’s narrow waist, to her back, urging her closer, fully against her. And to think once she would have scoffed at any sort of affection after sex, would have called it useless, pointless.

She nestled into her lover’s neck, her turn to say: “Stay like that.”

…

Ashe was still sleeping by the time Katarina went to the kitchen, sneaking about like a hungry wolf scavenging for meat and sniffing around the oven for the mouth-watering steaks Freya was preparing.

“No, _no_. Lunch is in half an hour!” The woman was summoned literally out of nowhere, rushing between the kitchen and Katarina as though she was willing to defend it with her life.

“I have to make sure it’s good, gimme a bite.” She batted her eyelashes, but Freya was the only woman in the world immune to her charms. The redhead blew out a puff of air that shook her fringe, then opted for taking a cookie off the counter tray.

It tasted sweet, a faint hint of salty. One bite was enough to bring back memories from her childhood. Every time she would get injured during training, or have a particularly tough day, Freya would take one look at her face and know. She wasn’t allowed to comfort her –her father would keep her away from Cassiopeia and her if he saw— but she found her own subtle way to do it. It could be cooking her favorite food one day, or leaving a fresh rose on her bedside table as she cleaned her room, or other little things. And she always, _always_ left a tray full of her favorite cookies in the kitchen.

As Katarina was about to go for the second-to-last bite, a high, beautiful laugh coming from the living room made her freeze. Freya paused; met her gaze numbly. Neither could believe what they just heard. 

The redhead took a tentative step forward. Stole a glance towards the other room.

Cassiopeia had nearly collapsed into Triana’s side from laughter, mahogany curls spilled over her shoulder along the way. The blonde had her head thrown back on the couch, chuckling heartily at whatever it was they saw on her phone.

Katarina was stunned there like she’d seen a ghost.

The cookie nearly fell from her fingers. Her eyes began to sting like she’d gotten a handful of shampoo in them –and Freya, on the other end, was already wiping at her tears with a tissue.

It wasn’t a sound they ever thought they would hear again.

“The Lady hasn’t… she hasn’t even _smiled_ in three years and I—” Freya chocked from emotion, unable to continue her sentence, though the assassin knew what she meant to say. They both took a moment to compose themselves, Katarina faster than the other woman. “I never dared imagine a day when she would stand in this house, so happy.”

The redhead lowered her gaze.

“Katarina, please. Look after Triana.” Freya rarely ever called her by name directly. “She’s a beautiful girl but she doesn’t see it. I can tell she’s been through a lot.” Emeralds looked into watery brown. “She is _hurting_.”

And was it really any surprise that she matched with all of them so well? Freya saw beyond what Katarina’s eyes could perceive, from a perspective only a mother could have.

“Don’t worry.” she promised. “Triana gave me something I can never repay her for. She gave me my sister back.” Katarina said. “And for that, I am going to give her the _world_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, here is our wondrous Kat x Ashe joining the fic, finally :). I missed those two and I was looking for an excuse to have them spend some... *ahem*, quality time together ;). Ashe is a cinnamon roll too good for the world, Kat is (not-so)secretly whipped and it should be said. 
> 
> Now, onto the last moment of the fic, I just want to say that Triana's pain and loss of her own mother are visible around Freya and to Freya because her kindness and the way she treats her remind her of her. 
> 
> That's all for now, stay healthy and stay awesome. Till next week!


	22. Chapter 22

**[Triana]**

Hazel eyes blinked open to an eerie blue glow.

It cast long shadows across the bedroom, its aura cold yet burning with the raw fury of the arcane. Triana had to shield her eyes with her hand, before reaching for the stone resting atop her neatly folded clothes next to her bed. A curse escaped her lips in her native language.

The intense, pulsing light meant only one thing; Xerath was summoning her. Urgently.

Triana could imagine he wasn’t exactly pleased with her absence, especially knowing who it was she was spending her time with. But he had other means to contact her –and if the matter truly couldn’t wait, he would have used one of them. Still, the blonde decided to humor the Magus. Out of respect, rather than anything else. She grabbed the rune-engraved stone, channeled her magic through it and just as she was about to cast it at the nearest open space…

A knock came at her door.

“Triana?” Cassiopeia’s voice came from the other side.

 _Shit._ “One moment, I’m not decent!” she replied hurriedly.

The mage sent a brief flare through the stone, one she hoped conveyed that she was not ignoring Xerath, merely couldn’t answer his summon. The glow died down just in time for Triana to shove the ancient rock into a drawer and lock it there. Then her shirt and pants were grabbed and put on at lightning speeds. A few breaths to calm her heart were in order as she reached for the handle.

The door opened to reveal a vision, an elegant sunrise, colored in black and jade-greens. Cassiopeia wasn’t even wearing one of her flashier tops, so it was utterly unfair how someone in a casual, drop-shoulder blouse could look like they stepped out of a fashion magazine.

“Not being decent hasn’t stopped you before.” the noble commented, an amused smirk playing at her glossy lips.

Triana stared at them longer than she meant to. “I’m self-conscious in the mornings.” she lied, which the other woman didn’t really seem to believe. “Come in. Gimme a moment to get ready?”

Cassiopeia gracefully sat on the edge of her bed, while Triana dashed into the bathroom to freshen up. A few minutes later, she joined her lover, sitting close to her, studying her expression. For a moment, the noblewoman looked… troubled.

“What’s wrong?” The Shuriman asked, laying a gentle hand on her bicep.

“I…” Cassiopeia’s eyes flitted to the side. “Had a nightmare. Which I’m no stranger to, only this time it was about _you_.” was said in a particular way, like the words needed to be pushed out. “It felt real. And I just wanted to see you.”

Triana paused for a second, uncharacteristically speechless. The words skipped her ear to fly straight to her heart, affecting a muscle she would have sworn had long since stopped feeling. “…you were worried about me?” a bashful grin made its way to her mouth and she had no hope of stopping it.

Cassiopeia, of course, waved her off with an annoyed expression. It didn’t last, for her tone turned genuine once more. “It wasn’t gruesome or anything of the sort. You just…” A vague gesture of her hand. “You were in this dark room, knelt down over a puddle of water –or a collapsed fountain, of sorts?— and you were clutching the right side of your face, crying.”

Triana’s blood went cold in her veins, hearing that.

All air in the room got sucked out, leaving behind only _ice_.

_How…_

“You were crying so _much_. I called out for you and I tried to reach you but I couldn’t. It was _horrible_.”

 _That’s impossible._ Triana thought. _That’s impossible…_

_It was all gone. In an instant –it was all stripped away. The Sun temple. Her mother’s life._

_Her beauty._

_Triana had spent days upon days in dimly-lit chambers, with healers guided by Xerath trying to do what best they could about her ruined face. But magic could only go so far. It could not bring the dead to life. It could not bring dead tissue back to life. The acid that had been thrown on her had done its work and nothing could undo that._

Nothing _._

_“We did all we could. Are you… certain you wish to see?” Xerath had asked as he removed the last of the bandages. She had never heard his voice shake, before._

_No, Triana wasn’t sure. But she had to be strong. Numbly, she walked towards the nearest mirror. Took a deep breath… and gazed upon what had become of her._

_The earth shook beneath her feet. She prayed it would open up and swallow her whole, make the nightmare end right there, but she wasn’t quite so lucky. Her right eye was saved by a miracle, yet all that surrounded it, right down to her jaw …was scorched beyond fixing._

She _was beyond fixing._

 _Denial turned to Pain. Pain, to_ rage _._

_Triana’s left fist crashed into the glass. Shattered pieces fell to the floor like hail._

_Xerath took a deep breath and motioned for a servant to bring the object he’d been clutching in his shaking grasp forward. “One year ago, your mother had this made for you.” Triana turned to see a golden half-mask in his palm, the mark of the exalted carved under its eye, offered to her like a tribute to a fallen hero. “Pure gold and obsidian, from the best jeweller in Shurima. I wondered to what end. Now I know what her visions had shown her.”_

_Triana tried to take it with her right hand, still wrapped in bandages. Her fingers, however, trembled. They had no strength to support even the small object. It was the second blow. The moment she realized she would never hold a blade again. And an assassin that couldn’t use their right arm was no assassin at all._

_She did not allow herself to cry._

_She merely put on the mask –it fit like a glove— and strode out of the chamber. Slaves all over the palace looked at her strangely. They froze, averted their gaze, not knowing what to say or how to react. She passed by Renekton at the entrance without either of them saying a word._

_Finally, Triana made it through the streets to the collapsed, burnt Sun Temple. Hundreds of slaves were working on carrying the materials necessary to rebuild it. Heavy steps marched right to the bent entrance. Ducked under two pillars forming an x, to the equally depressing interior._

_Scenes from the fire flashed before hazel orbs. The assassin’s black eyes, the carved knife he drew across her mother’s throat. The acid. The_ acid _._

_Her feet carried her as far in as she could go. To the inner sanctum, the sacred waters only the Sun Priestess was allowed to venture past. Triana collapsed on her knees. Brought her hands over the ruined side of her face, the perfect analogy for her ruined life._

_Then and only then… she cried._

_She took an oath of revenge that day, over the waters meant to heal and cleanse, even if it meant poisoning their purity. She no longer cared about the concept of good and sanctified._

_“I will find whoever is responsible. I will make everyone they ever loved_ bleed _. I will have them_ scream _. I will find them and everyone who stands in my way… will_ burn _.”_

“…are you okay?” Cassiopeia’s voice, her touch under her chin, brought Triana back to reality. “You’ve gone pale.”

“No, I…” she was too tongue-tied to even lie.

So, Triana leaned forward, pulled Cassiopeia into a tight embrace. To hide her expression, to hide the past, the real her, from showing on her face. That person wasn’t worthy of anyone’s care and worry. She was the devil herself.

The noble carefully wrapped her arms around her shoulders.

Gradually, the darkness drained from Triana’s hazel eyes, leaving something cracked in its place. She didn’t deserve the comfort Cassiopeia provided, but if she were honest, it was all that was keeping her looking forward to the next day, sometimes. She was the only thing making this new world worth experiencing.

And for that…

“Thank you.” she whispered.

…

Cassiopeia’s dream left Triana troubled for the rest of the day. She couldn’t shake it off her mind, restlessly trying to explain why it occurred. She’d tried to play it off as a coincidence for the sake of not ruining her holidays, yet the way the noble described it had been too detailed and too specific to be so.

_Could it be that the summoning bond somehow made a past memory from me bleed into her subconscious?_

Triana thought back to their early matches. The vortex of fire and poison Brand and Singed had created against them, which, unknowingly to the two enemies, had hit them both exactly where it hurt. It triggered Cassiopeia’s and Triana’s trauma at the same time –and they’d shared a glimpse of what the other had associated with the burn of flames.

_But what if…_

_What if it went beyond that, without either of us realizing it?_ she wondered.

There was no set explanation of what the summoning bond was. If one asked a hundred pairs, even with the same champion, they would get a hundred different answers. The connection behaved differently for every individual, so who was there to say that there couldn’t be side effects…?

Triana inwardly swore. She’d never stopped to consider that. Because she’d never stopped to ponder just how deep a pair’s synchronicity could run. Cassiopeia and she had similar ways of thinking. Personalities that complimented the other. Grand goals and ambitions and a sense of superiority over the commonfolk that fueled their shared power. They both lost their mothers and a part of themselves in a way that scarred them for _life_.

It wasn’t entirely nonsensical that all those things, through endless matches and hours spent together, began to leak through the mental barriers separating them.

_Damn it all!_

“Are you alright, Triana?” Freya’s voice came from her right, making the Shuriman jump. She hadn’t realized the maid had entered the living room, let alone approached her. 

“Of course.” Recovering fast, the lie easily rolled off her tongue. She relaxed her fingers from the white-knuckled fist they’d been in, as she gave her best smile.

“You seem… upset.” Freya’s eyes studied her face. “Who is to blame?”

“Myself.” Triana replied honestly.

“You can talk to me, if you wish.” the maid laid a compassionate hand on her shoulder. “Anytime.”

“Thank you. Were you looking for me?” the blonde asked.

“Lady Cassiopeia wanted to show you something. She is in her mother’s study –well, her study— right up and to the left, then the first door to your right.”

Swift steps carried Triana up the stairs and to the door Freya had given instructions to. It was left slightly ajar, yet she stilled knocked before pushing it open.

Nothing about the library laid bare before her eyes had anything in common with the rest of the house. If one saw it by itself, they would never have guessed it belonged to the interior of a Noxian mansion. The patterns of the sand-colored carpet, the artefacts in glass displays around the space, even the two rows of bookshelves and the desk on the far end were clearly Shuriman in style.

Triana met Cassiopeia’s eyes and the tension slowly drained away.

Several tomes were spread open before the noble, filled with bookmarks and pages upon pages of notes that the mage had no doubt she kept effortless track of, in a cute, mad-scientist way. Nobody else would have found the tomb she did.

“What do you think?” Cassiopeia flashed her a smile. 

“I think you look _right_ at home in this Shuriman setting.” Triana chuckled. “Gods, you should have been born two thousand years ago.” she said. _Maybe things would have been different if I met you, then._

“Would I have made for a princess?” she asked, green eyes positively _sparkling_.

“An Empress-consort.” Triana replied without joking.

“Interesting.” Cassiopeia twirled a pen around her fingers. “I wanted you to see this.” Her hands gestured around the chamber. “My mother had been _enamoured_ with Shuriman culture. She passed that down to me …and I knew you’d appreciate all the relics here as much as I.”

“I do.” The mage smiled, walking around the desk to admire the first of many tickets on display. “It’s beautiful how highly you hold Shuriman history, when most Shurimans themselves don’t.” she said.

“Well, I have a… love-hate relationship with it.” Cassiopeia replied. Triana turned around to look into her eyes. “I’ve always found it fascinating, but my mother paid more attention to her findings than her children, sometimes. Between her studies and political affairs, there was very little time to see her.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, she loved us very much. Just… wasn’t given many years to show it.” Cassiopeia’s gaze fell to the books, perhaps finding it easier to continue that way. “I wanted to finish what she started. I swore it. I _know_ she wasn’t wrong. All these hidden messages in Shuriman texts hinting at this earth-altering power couldn’t have been a _lie_ …!”

Triana’s arms crossed. Nails dug into her biceps. _How much does she know about the Eternum sceptre…?_

“I thought that it would _be_ there. I gave up three years of my life translating coded line after line to find the tomb of Emperors! But there was no power inside. There was just _poison_.” It was one of the first times she spoke about the tomb… and the only one Triana could so clearly hear the desperation and pain in her voice.

 _Trust me, I know the feeling. I gave up everything to find it._ Triana could not say.

 _Everything_.

“If there is anything at all you know, any piece of your history I may have overlooked…” Cassiopeia looked her dead in the eye. “Help me.”

Triana gulped. Guilt tore a bloody line down her middle, separating her in two. She knew too much but she could share none of it without giving up her biggest secret. And even if Cassiopeia knew she was right? What then? Would her mind rest easier… or would it obsess?

 _I can’t do that to her_. Triana thought. _I can’t drag her any further into this._

“I know most of it was gibberish coded by Xerath’s followers so he could one day get out of his prison.” she ducked her head. _I’m sorry. I’m so sorry_.

The way Cassiopeia shut her eyes as though she was stabbed… it may as well have seen a silent scream. 

…

Triana held Xerath’s stone in her hand, her emotions all over the place.

She channeled her magic through it and angrily tossed it towards the wall. The portal that opened was unsteady and wouldn’t linger for long thanks to the Du Couteau mansion’s wards, but luckily there was no mage around to sense the disturbance in them.

The pocket dimension was always the same. Black all around, the ground merely an idea, like see-through glass. Electricity zapped through the space in endless swirls and arcs. Then… a thunderclap later, the grand Magus was floating right in front of Triana. 

“Be quick about this.” she hissed.

“Interrupting the fun with your backstabbing friend? I thought you had had enough of those back in Shurima.” Xerath replied. “Like the green-eyed girl –Ayzel?— who dropped you for your brother as soon as she found out you _wouldn’t_ be Empress.”

Triana’s already tensely restrained anger flared out of control. Space itself shook from her burst of rage as she snapped: “Don’t _mention_ her!” The cry bounced around the nothingness in a deadly echo.

“ _There_ is the you I recognize.” Xerath’s stones settled against his glowing body. “I thought her gone, with how you’ve been acting lately.”

“I’ve been _trying_ to make the most of my stay in this horrible fucking _place_ while you’re supposedly on the process of finding the sceptre.” Triana growled. Her right eye flashed ominously. “Instead you’re more interested in who I take to bed.”

“When it affects our shared goal, I am.” Xerath’s chilling tone reverberated across the molecules of air. “I know not of the sceptre’s location yet, but I will, soon enough.”

Triana’s body went rigid. “…what?” Surely, he did not just say what she heard… “That’s impossible, unless you can somehow pry the memory right of Nasus’ thick head.” The jackal-headed Ascended would never give up the secret. He’d rather destroy himself than give it up to them. He’d rather lock his own brother in a tomb for _centuries_.

“ _Exactly_.” Xerath’s voice hid a dark laugh underneath. “The Rift is the key. I have already made the arrangements for a match of high stakes against Nasus. Our main Challengers are rivals and they have much to prove. They will give everything they have and more in the fight –and in the right moment, I will infiltrate his bond and his mind.”

“That’s possible?” Triana asked.

“Anything is possible, but it will drain my energy dry. I will lose the clash.” the Magus explained. “After that and for a few days, it will be entirely up to you to secure the sceptre. It shall be a race against time, for he will know what I saw in his memory. Your only advantage is that Nasus is not aware of your immortality. To him, you are a pile of bones within the Tomb of Emperors.”

“If that works…” Triana’s voice nearly broke at the thought.

Her dream would come true –and the Shurima she loved would come to life. A grand empire once more, without Azir or any of the corrupt nobility staining its core. A shining beacon of power and prosperity, filled with the worthy and just, both of the past and the present. A paradise on earth.

“Our vision of Shurima is close. But you must be prepared to sacrifice the world for it, as you once were. Attachments cannot get in the way. ‘Triana’ is a temporary lie, woven to fit this society, a mask that needs to be discarded.” Xerath’s words and stare were penetrating as he spoke. “Tell me –do you remember your real name?”

Hazel met fiery blue. “I _remember_.”

…

Cassiopeia had been too absorbed in her work, while Triana in her own thoughts, for the rest of the evening.

Even as they all sat in the living room to watch a movie –Katarina picked it and pressed play before Ashe could sweet-talk her into choosing a romantic one— the blonde couldn’t focus and the noble beside her kept shifting uncomfortably. Evil spirits kept jumping at the screen. Talon tried to keep a brave front, though Ashe had completely turned her face into the redhead’s neck.

Halfway through, Triana turned to look at Cassiopeia. Their eyes met. Hazel silently asked what was wrong. Lime, lit in blue hues by the television, claimed that everything was alright, just tension from the accumulated stress of fruitless research and pouring over agents’ reports for hours. 

Triana watched as the noble rolled her shoulders to find some relief from the tightness of her muscles, exposing her neck in a way that was unintentionally sensual. She leaned just a tad closer to the brunette’s ear, whispering so low that nobody else could hear: “I wish I could give you a massage, but I don’t think your muscles have any give under my fingers.”

Cassiopeia gave her a soft look, brushed the back of a normal finger across her chin. “I appreciate the thought, regardless.” A brief pause. “I think I’ll retire early for a hot shower.”

It was clear they both thought to lean in for a kiss but instead shifted course for a more ‘appropriate’ caress, saying goodnight.

A few minutes after Cassiopeia had left, Triana noticed a thin black device on the table that normally didn’t leave the noble’s purse or hand. _Oh, damn. She forgot her phone._

The blonde picked it up and silently excused herself from the company to deliver it to its owner. In the hallway leading to Cassiopeia’s room, however, she reconsidered the action. Maybe the other woman didn’t want her in her private quarters and maybe she’d rather come down and get her phone herself. Maybe the mage didn’t account for how nervous she would be outside that bedroom door. _Maybe_ —

The faint sound of running water reached her ears from within. The summoner hesitantly knocked on the door. “Cassiopeia? You left your phone downstairs.” she said. “I’ll leave it here, okay?”

The water ceased for a moment. “Come in, Triana.”

The blonde was hoping she both would say that and that she wouldn’t. The handle was turned as though it was the fuse to a bomb about to go off. Triana took a careful step inside. The shower turned back on just as the door clicked shut behind her and the mage was left to admire the neat space she found herself in.

The decorations were distinctly Noxian in style, though lacked the strict vibe of the rest of the house. The red carpet, couch and matching curtains were more modern, while the huge, four-poster bed was accented by flimsy drapes, dream-like. There was a mahogany desk filled with stacks of neatly organized papers and a wardrobe the size of Triana’s whole room back in the Institute. _So Cassiopeia._ She mused. 

“Come here, darling, I don’t bite.” The champion's voice came muffled through the ajar door leading to the bathroom.

Triana huffed fondly, leaving the phone on the desk as she walked to the next chamber, equally luxurious as all the others. Dark tiles and wood, combined with the amazing aromas coming from the large shower, lit the room in a decadent, seductive hue.

Hazel orbs could only make out Cassiopeia’s outline past the fogged, aquatex glass, yet her imagination filled the gaps for her, making her grow several degrees hotter. “You don’t? Sad.” she flirted.

Cassiopeia leaned against the wall. Triana could feel her piercing eyes on her through the filter between them. “I can be persuaded.” was said.

The blonde’s confidence faltered. That sounded too much like an invitation, but her too-warm ears could just be making things up. “Yeah? Do tell.” she spoke.

“…do I really have to spell it out for you?” the noble asked.

“Maybe.” _Is it just me or did the walls get narrower…?_ Triana’s heart was under the wrong impression it ran a mile, with how it was pounding.

Cassiopeia let out a breath. “…will you join me?”

“Well…” The Shuriman couldn’t think of anything smart to say. Her fingers weren’t exactly steady as they removed her jacket, then her shirt, then unzipped her pants. When she was naked, clothes folded by the sink, she let her hand rest on the glass, summoning the strength to push the sliding door aside.

Cassiopeia made the decision for her, removing the barrier separating them to impatiently pull her in. A healthy amount of smoke coiled around their bodies. Triana shivered at the first hot drops of the shower spray raining over her tan skin. Cassiopeia looked like a siren under the majesty of the fog and water, her wet hair still somehow curly, sticking to her pale shoulders and back. Those gorgeous green eyes _glowed_ in the dark.

She didn’t drop her hand from Triana’s bicep, instead using it to pull her closer, closer, until their outlines formed one, until they were breathing the same air. Her normally cool body was warm from the shower. The blonde’s hands instinctively moved to her sides, marvelling at the smooth feel of her. Their eyes remained locked the entire time.

“What brought this on?” Triana asked, quietly, the very edge of her lower lip brushing Cassiopeia’s as she spoke.

“It’s all I thought about since I came in. And I wanted to try it.” she whispered back.

The tips of her claws traced the contours of Triana’s muscles, up her arms, to her shoulders and neck. The blonde closed her eyes, knees absolutely weak from that. She willed her body not to shudder, already hating how vulnerable she was allowing herself to be. How she was _loving_ it.

She told Xerath she remembered what her real name was, that she hadn’t forgotten herself. But she was all too eager to, in Cassiopeia’s arms. 'Triana' wasn’t a mask she made up to hide behind, no matter how she wanted to lie that was the case. She was _half_ of her and that half was winning, at times, taking over.

The past her wanted nothing beyond the restoration of Shurima…

But Triana didn’t want anything in the world quite as bad as she wanted Cassiopeia.

She hadn’t realized she’d leaned her head on the noble’s shoulder at the ministrations, until her eyelids fluttered open and all she could see was alabaster skin. Her lips ached to touch it… so she did. Starting from the column of Cassiopeia’s delicate neck, moving in little kisses and sucks up to her jawline. The noble’s claws dug just a little bit into her back, a brief flash of pain without any blood drawn.

“Too much?” she asked.

Cassiopeia opened her pretty eyes to look at her. The sheer _want_ in her expression cracked something in Triana. Even when they were having sex, she’d always been poised and controlled. She’d never worn her desire so plainly, so openly.

Clawed hands gripped her for a moment; turned them around so the Shuriman was pressed back against the wall, with Cassiopeia’s mouth doing all sorts of wicked things to her neck. “Not _enough_.” she cooed in her ear.

Triana was burning all over, but she felt positively _wrecked_ at the press of twin fangs against her skin, just shy of breaking it. “ _Oh_ ~” she breathed, head falling back against the wall in surrender. She should be afraid, a slightly deeper press and there would be no saving her from that venom, but that only made her more excited.

Cassiopeia’s lips moved down to her collarbones, then the valley of her breasts, then the toned skin at her middle. She urged Triana to sit on the marble ledge a tad to her right. Leaned up for a soft kiss on the lips…

And then leaned down. The blonde’s awe-struck eyes went wide, but quickly fell closed at the sensation of fangs on the inside of her thigh. The visual of Cassiopeia knelt between her legs, focused solely on her pleasure like nothing else mattered in the world, was forever burned in her mind.

Triana couldn’t find purchase on her shoulders, so in her blissful haze she was distantly aware of grabbing hold of her hair. Cassiopeia moaned when she tugged, but the blonde was too lost to make sense of anything other than the hot tongue driving her insane.

When the wave of pleasure built to a crushing point she couldn’t even hold it there, merely let it crash and let herself be swept along with it. It could have been minutes or seconds later that she came down from her high, to Cassiopeia resting her chin on her shoulder, looking uncharacteristically coy.

“Let me take care of you.” Triana said to her under the shower spray, already running her fingertips down shiny, hard scales.

The noble shifted her tail, coiled it around them in a loose embrace, ultimately bringing the part she needed touched against Triana’s fingers. At the first brush against her, she tensed and raised her hands onto the wall, to avoid hurting the blonde.

Triana stopped. Gently took hold of her wrists, guided them back onto her shoulder and neck. She pressed Cassiopeia’s claws against her jugular, until the woman took the message to tighten her grip.

“You’re _crazy_.” she huffed near her ear.

“You already knew that.” Triana stated, then began working her up in earnest.

Moans and gasps and breaths graced the dense air of the shower.

Minutes later they dissolved to silence, then to quiet laughs.

Triana was shivering into her bathrobe by the time Cassiopeia was done drying her hair, but she didn’t have any complains. Watching her tame her beautiful brown locks while occasionally meeting her gaze in the mirror made it worth it. She was warmer by the time she was done with hers. The noblewoman was waiting for her in her bed, head cutely perched up on her palm while she lounged against too many pillows.

She pat the spot next to her before Triana could doubt she overstayed her welcome.

“I’m cold.” she said simply.

The blonde gave her a playfully scrutinizing look, wrapped an arm lightly around her waist, under the heavy covers. “Now?”

“Still cold.”

Triana pulled her as close as possible, burying her nose in fresh shampoo and Cassiopeia’s wonderful perfume. The noble covered her like smoke, over her, everywhere around her, her tail a steady safety net against her back. They both agreed it was just for a little while. For practical purposes, they said, sharing heat and talking for a bit longer, until they got tired enough to sleep.

But Triana’s eyes started to droop in their embrace and Cassiopeia didn’t seem like she was willing to move anytime soon.

If she were smarter, she thought, she would have stopped what they were doing, what was inevitably building between them, a long time ago. But she didn’t and it was already far too late. Triana was as powerless to put distance between them as she was to disentangle herself from the champion that night.

Most frightening of all was the realization that dawned on her the moment where wakefulness gave way to sleep, where dreams and aspirations of the soul brushed over conscious thought.

_Oh._

Any future she pictured behind her closed eyelids had Cassiopeia in it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been dying to write SOFT!Cass for such a long time. And it's finally here ^.^. Also a little more of Triana's backstory and goals revealed as the plot thickens and moves towards the final chapters. Triana is starting to realize she's falling (fallen?) for Cass, but 'Triana' technically isn't real, so... 
> 
> Sorry for the late update, these may happen every once in a while either because of work or because something else is sooo stuck in my head I HAVE to write about it to get it out. (So rn I'm also writing oneshots that may or may not end up as a story about Vampire the Masquerade, featuring my Fledgling x Therese Voerman who is a character I've been in love with forever and now that's resurfaced. If that interests you, the first chapter should be out soon.) Thank you all for your patience, stay cool :) !


	23. Chapter 23

**[Triana]**

The tickle of something soft and flowery-scented over her cheek woke her up.

Hazel orbs slowly blinked open to an unfamiliar room, one with much more character than the guest chambers. Triana didn’t realize where she was, at first, but also didn’t care to. She was beyond comfortable wherever that may be, a dream, reality, or something in-between. A steady weight warmed her back, another tucked into her side, a third draped over her waist, all cocooning her in an environment that felt blissfully _secure_.

But her brain slowly worked to catch up to her situation. Vivid images of a steamy shower flashed through her mind, of Cassiopeia pulling her close, worshiping her like an emperor, asking her to stay for a little while longer. Which turned to a lot longer. Which… resulted in the mage never leaving.

 _Oh, shit._ She thought, eyes flying wide at the realization. Triana tried to slip away without the champion fully waking, hoping that perhaps she could remedy the mistake. It quickly became apparent such a feat was impossible. Even the tiny flex of her muscles testing the noble’s hold made her stir lightly.

 _I’m doomed._ Triana accepted her fate. If she couldn’t change it, she mused, it was better to enjoy it. So, she let her hand roam up the marble plane of Cassiopeia’s bare back, noting how the muscles there loosened and spread, welcoming her touch, how she turned her face deeper into the blonde’s neck.

“Mm, baby…” and the _way_ she said it in her half-asleep, half-awake state, made Triana positively melt.

So much so that she couldn’t hold back the string of Shuriman words that rushed like a melody past her lips; “Tye kal laik i Sol, mah seh’thir.” _You rise like the sun, my savior._

The second she spoke, Triana instantly regretted what she let slip. But there was little chance Cassiopeia would translate what was said that quickly, so early in the morning. The noblewoman did not seem like she heard her at all, for she remained limp in her arms for a good ten minutes.

Then, her long eyelashes fluttered, a butterfly’s caress at Triana’s neck. Her tail slid away from the Shuriman’s back, almost shyly. She did not speak.

“Are… you panicking?” Triana asked, not knowing how to interpret the mixed signals she was receiving. On one hand, Cassiopeia had gone a tad stiffer in her arms. On the other, she didn’t withdraw.

“I will, later, but I’m too comfortable for that right now.” she replied. A quiet minute passed. Cassiopeia then drew back, as though bitten by something, scanning Triana’s sheet-clad body worryingly. “I didn’t hurt you anywhere, did I?”

The mage reached her fingers up to brush over the pretty slope of her lover's jaw. _Gods, her eyes…_ she thought, in awe of the sight in front of her, to the point words failed to connect into sentences. Triana had been gifted many gems during her glory days in ancient Shurima. They’d decorated her light armor and the pommels of her swords. _None_ could compare to the color of Cassiopeia’s irises.

“Don’t worry. You didn’t.” she said after a while. “In fact, I haven’t slept this good in ages.”

Cassiopeia fell back down, to her own pillow. A scowl came over her features, though nowhere near as menacing as her usual one. A lighter version, of sorts. The summoner would very much like to think of it as the ‘very early morning’ version. “…so, how many of our own rules have we broken…?” she wondered aloud.

Triana could only chuckle in response. “A _lot_.”

_..._

Xerath’s match against Nasus was scheduled for that evening –and Triana was unable to think of anything else, her entire day. The warmth of her wakeup had vanished, like wisps of smoke in a storm. In its place at the pit of her stomach was a void, a lodged shard of pure ice.

Growing.

Freezing her to the bone.

“Hey.” A heavy hand came down onto her shoulder. Triana’s reflexes kicked in, making her grab a deathhold of her assailant’s wrist the second it neared her skin. Katarina’s emerald eyes widened. A quiet whistle followed. “Easy there, champ. I thought you’d heard me come down the staircase.”

“No, I was too distracted in my own head.” the Shuriman admitted.

“Maybe some air will do you good, then?” the assassin suggested with one of her trademark grins. “I was planning to go to the beach for my exercise and Ashe has plans with Cassiopeia.”

At first, Triana thought to decline, thinking it just a polite offer on Katarina’s part. But then, she reconsidered. The redhead wasn’t really the type to suggest anything out of manners. If she invited her along, she wanted her company. She was appreciably straightforward like that. 

“Sure. Lead the way.”

Katarina pulled her up and led them to the garage, tucked off to a corner of the mansion, where she kept her motorcycle, clean and polished as ever. The second helmet was handed to Triana, before they both mounted the sleek, custom-made vehicle.

The combination of speed and wind had an oddly calming effect on the blonde. The control she always kept about herself was allowed to slip for a moment. She could close her eyes and simply breathe; simply _feel_. 

The ride felt shorter than it actually was.

When the hum of the engine quieted down, there was just the lick of waves over sand and their splash onto cement reaching her ears. Katarina and Triana walked forward, towards the empty coastline. There was a wild beauty to the riled sea, rivalling that of Noxus, at their back. The sun was dominating the clouds in the sky above, unobscured.

“You’re free to go through the starting motions with me, if you like.” Katarina said.

Triana came to stand a few meters to her left, both of them facing the endless azure. The redhead lifted her hands forward, then to the side, shifting her body weight as she went in a clearly practiced motion. She took the time to explain to the blonde what each movement and breath was meant to signify.

Triana, on her part, tried her best to go through the motions following Katarina’s lead. It was harder than she thought, pretending to be a novice at something her body recognized all too well. The flow threatened to take over, sometimes; muscle memory all too eager to be swept into the rhythm.

“You’re a natural.” Katarina commented. “You have the makings of a great assassin.”

Triana smirked sideways at that. “Do I, now.”

“Good thing my father didn’t know of you as a kid. I’d have _another_ asshole step-sibling to worry about.” the champion joked. The blonde laughed, eyes widening in mock-hurt. “Not to mention keeping you away from my sister.”

“Who says you could?” Triana challenged, cocking her chin in Katarina’s direction. Throughout their talk, they had slowly turned to face each other.

“Don’t push your luck, Triana.” she smirked, clearly tempted into rushing her, but holding back. Barely.

“You think you can protect Cassiopeia from me?”

“You’re asking for it, _Nephthys_.” Katarina used her summoner name as she closed their distance in one rapid step. The punch aimed at her shoulder had no real strength behind it, more speed than force. Triana caught it and jabbed back, much more serious about their spar.

As expected, the redhead pushed her hand to the side to create an opening. The blonde would have been disappointed if she didn’t. Slight shifts of their weight followed, a battle to see if Triana could be made to fall.

“Ah, so they _do_ train you to play in the sand, over in Shurima.” Katarina smirked, both making fun of and commending her fighting experience in one sentence.

“Don’t think you’ll beat me in _my_ kingdom, Noxian.” Triana suddenly pushed back— and the sparring began in earnest.

Testing the waters and reaction times with a few fake hits, at first. Going for the real ones right after. Katarina tried to swipe the mage’s feet off from underneath her, but she was already in the air. An elbow came at her just as she was about to land, but Triana twist her body to the side, letting the attack graze past her and creating an opening for herself at the same time.

She got close, aiming for a direct palm to the diaphragm. She trusted Katarina would stop it. Indeed, the assassin did. She grabbed her wrist lightning-fast, pulled it farther to make her lose her balance and pushed her towards the sand. Triana’s body instantly turned the fall into a roll.

“There’s something about me you must know, Katarina…” she warned.

The redhead confidently raised an eyebrow, thinking she had won.

But the battle was only over for an assassin when their target was _dead_. 

Triana sharply turned; flung at her the sand she had taken into her fist the moment she rolled. Katarina instinctively turned her face away –and the blonde was on her in an instant, grabbing her around the neck in a purposefully loose headlock.

“I don’t play fair.” Triana said, a chilly finality to her voice.

The redhead easily broke out of the hold, staring at her in equal parts frustration and awe. Katarina had gone easy on her, that went without saying. Yet when it came down to the _result_ … Triana still won.

“You’re…”

_A rule-breaker. A cheat. A traitor._

_A monster._ Say _it._

“… _good_.” Katarina flashed her a dazzling smile. “My mistake, for underestimating you. Next time, though, you’re going down.”

Triana blinked. She didn’t know what she was expecting, but the praising pat on the shoulder she received wasn’t it. She wasn’t certain what to say, so she opted for not saying anything at all. Quietly, the two of them sat on the rocks overlooking the sea.

The Shuriman was the first to break the comfortable silence that had momentarily settled over their cooling bodies. “Noxus sure is strange, isn’t it.” she began. “There’s contradictions even on this beach. Jagged rocks literally blend into the sand. Most of this sea seams deep and rocky, but that part, over there, is shallow, softer.” she pointed to a side where dark blue gave way to green hues.

“Is that an analogy for the members of my family, also, or?” Katarina drawled, lip curling ever-so-subtly. An almost-smirk.

Triana shook her head with a smile. “Your words, not mine.”

“Noxus is… a lot of things.” the redhead commented. Her devotion to her kingdom was evident in her voice. But so was the way it had hurt her. She seemed to regret saying it as soon as she was done speaking.

“I’m sure it could be made better.” Triana dared to say.

Katarina’s head snapped towards her as if that sentence was treason, in of itself. Yet they were alone, nobody else there to deliver judgement for what one dared to say or think. The blonde could see the battle in those jade eyes. The picture-perfect Noxian she was raised to be, struggling to quiet a more progressive mind, whose beliefs would be considered wrong. Traitorous.

“…I don’t know.” the redhead bit the inside of her cheek.

“Don’t you?”

“…you and Ashe both…” Katarina breathed. Grimaced, as though she had tasted something bitter. “What exactly is it you want to hear?” she asked. “Noxus is basically an empire. Can _any_ empire’s methods of expanding ever be fully _right_?”

“Right and wrong are largely subjective.” Triana stated. “It doesn’t matter that Ionians suffered from acid and poisons rather than actual blades –either way, a war costs lives. It doesn’t even matter that each family here has to give a child as tribute to the military and is taught that it’s an _honor_.” she continued. “All that matters is what _you_ see, when you look at Noxus.”

Those were facts. Cold, plain facts. And to an empire, they didn’t matter.

But to an individual, who had to go out in front of a billion people, every day and embrace those facts, praise them, take _pride_ in them…

Every little thing mattered, then.

“It’s my kingdom and my home. I _love_ Noxus…” Katarina said. “And a few years ago, my sentence would have stopped there. But I can’t turn my eyes away from the truth anymore that it’s…” she trailed off. She couldn’t bring herself to say the word.

In that moment, it was like looking in a mirror. Triana had been the same way over Shurima, once.

But change could only come after acceptance. 

“ _Rotting_.” Triana said it for her.

Katarina lowered her head, the lines of her jaw tight. The blonde knew every bit how painful it was. Shurima had been her everything. She devoted her life to her empire from a very young age. And to look upon it one day and realize all that glory was being wasted…

By the corruption that infested it from within. A glorious palace of marble and gold, filled to the brim with _trash_.

“With far too many undeserving people in positions of power, while the worthy are waning, being crushed underfoot in the agendas of the privileged. Poisoned by greed, by the corrupt nobility. It’s an impenetrable fortress, collapsing from the inside.” Triana didn’t know if she was reminiscing of Shurima or talking about Noxus, anymore. But the question remained; “So, tell me. If you could change it all, no matter the hate you’d gather onto yourself, no matter the cost… would you?”

Katarina took so long to reply Triana thought perhaps she wouldn’t.

Until…

“Yes.” she said.

 _…Then you understand._

...

Triana was glad to miss the match.

She didn’t think she would be able to maintain a cool front if she watched it. And there was no way she wouldn’t watch it, if she were at the mansion. Thankfully, it had already concluded by the time Katarina and she got back.

Triana’s phone was erupting with notifications from the media, about the volcanic clash between Xerath and Nasus. Apparently, the sheer amount of energy released during their collision was enough to have a magnetic impact on the arena, causing a temporary blackout, all the way from the parallel dimension of the Rift. It was a phenomenon seen only a couple of times before, in all the years of the League.

The Shuriman had half a mind to take caution in her next steps. Her first move was to ask Talon where Cassiopeia was. According to the assassin, she shouldn’t be disturbed for the rest of the evening, as she was settling a delicate matter between allied noble houses.

 _Perfect._ Triana thanked him and excused herself to her room, double-checking that she had locked the door. Her heart was hammering in her chest by the time she took Xerath’s stone into her hand. Her grip was shaking. Her breathing was shallow.

She was both dreading and hoping for his revelation…

The pocket dimension was… different, that time. Shaking, stuttering, like being trapped in a television with too much static. The ground felt tilted, frail, unsteady. Triana did not move from her initial spot.

Xerath’s form did not come with its trademark thunderclap. He materialized like wisps of energy coming together to form a ghost, drained of all energy. His form was blurry and unclear, but his voice was the same echoing boom when he spoke:

“Triana.”

“Tell me fast. What did you see?” she asked, hazel eyes wide. “Where did that bastard hide it?!”

Xerath’s phantom, however… wasn’t looking victorious, nor self-assured. It could have just been the way his ‘invasion’ of Nasus’ head took everything out of him, yet there was a nagging feeling in Triana’s gut telling her that wasn’t the sole reason. 

“We have a problem.” the Magus began, deathly serious.

“What… what do you mean?” Triana deflated like a popped balloon.

“There is no easy way to say this –Nasus truly has no idea where the sceptre was hidden.” Xerath’s voice echoed across the space and the blonde’s head.

“But…” Words felt lost to her. “No way. _No_.” Crushing disappointment turned to denial.

It made no sense. Ever since the relic was excavated, she had known Azir feared it. The Eternum Sceptre. He was many things, but he was not blind to his own weaknesses. He knew well that one day he would cave into using that power. To smite his foes. To take the easy road into ruling the entire world. To avoid such a fate, one that felt inevitable to him with the sceptre in his grasp, he gave it to his most trusted individual to hide away, to be used only in Shurima’s most desperate time of need.

_So how can Nasus not know where it is…?!_

“We made a grave mistake in assuming Azir gave the sceptre to Nasus for safekeeping.” Xerath broke her out of her thoughts. “When all that we knew for certain was that it was given to his most trustworthy individual.”

“Yes, and Nasus _was_ that person.”

“…No.” the Magus shook his spectral head. “As it turns out, above everyone in the world... your father trusted… your mother.”

Triana’s breath was sucked right out of her lungs. She froze; in space, in time.

A perfectly still statue cracking from the inside out.

Then _rage_ succeeded shock.

Azir trusted her mother, believed in her utmost loyalty, but he was _never_ there for her. Always standing beside his phony empress-consort, next to his spineless son, for as long as Triana could remember him. The Emperor claimed that she was his first love, that she always would be, but he dishonored her memory.

Defiled it.

Betrayed it.

 _Betrayed_ her.

Thin droplets of blood hit the ground from where Triana’s nails had cut into her palms, pressed as tightly as they were into fists.

“I know this is hard for you to hear. I need you to focus. We’ve come so _far_.” Xerath said, reaching for her as though to touch her, but he was not physically present to do so. Merely a brush of energy reached her biceps.

Triana did not speak. Did not move.

“Don’t you see? Everything has clicked into _place_. Your mother knows where the sceptre is. She was the one who _hid_ it, all along. And _you_ are a necromancer.” Xerath began. And that he even thought to say it made Triana’s stomach turn.

“Don’t—”

“You can call her shadow back and ask her where it is!” Xerath continued. “Demand to know, if you have to.”

“ _Stop_!” Triana’s right eye flashed vibrant green, lizard-like and inhuman. Black veins spread across her neck and right arm, dark as the magic coursing through them. Even an Ascended being like the Magus took an instinctive step back. “Just… stop.”

The burst of energy was gone as quickly as it came, leaving her empty. Triana turned around, willed the portal to open and hastily stepped outside, to the familiar space of the Du Couteau mansion’s guest room. The stone left behind her lost its glow, reverting to a simple, rune-engraved rock.

She did not make it two steps before she collapsed on her knees, her hand coming up as if to stop the sudden, nauseating headache that felt like it would split her head in two.

_It’s all falling apart again._

_It’s all falling apart…_

**[Cassiopeia]**

She had been locked up in her study for the better part of her evening. If she were honest, not just due to the volume of her work.

Cassiopeia did have stacks upon stacks of reports to read and reply to, of course, but that was an everyday occurrence she had gotten beyond adept at settling, within a few hours. That was, if she focused completely on her task and put her strategic mind to use of its maximum capability. Alas, the noblewoman had caught her thoughts drifting even as she read the letters of her agents. Too many times, she’d gone over the same sentence to make sense of it.

It had been beyond frustrating. So the Du Couteau had given up on forcing her mind locked on the sheets of paper arranged neatly in front of her, instead searching for the root of its troubles.

The morning had... thrown her a tad off-balance, she was willing to admit. Cassiopeia had never woken up with another person in her bed –let alone her _actual_ bed— and she’d been quite certain it was a intimate vulnerability she didn’t ever want to experience. Distrustful by nature, her job and upbringing only reinforcing that trait, she would bet a fortune she’d never trust anyone enough to let them lay beside her while she was unconscious. The thought of it had always made her... antsy.

It never happened before her transformation. She hadn’t pictured anybody remotely close to her after it.

But Triana... had somehow slipped closer than Cassiopeia intended to keep her. The attraction had been obvious, of course, since the moment she laid eyes on her. It was precisely what made her despise the summoner, at first, what made her want to shove her away, since she couldn’t stand to want her near. But somewhere along their walks, talks, natural chemistry, the powerful connection they shared, something changed.

The champion had wanted to call the unnamed thing between them ‘just sex’. But the kisses in the dark and Triana’s careful, almost reverent hold stirred a string inside her sex had never been able to.

Cassiopeia took a deep breath. She could admit it when she messed up. And she had messed up.

Because she developed... _feelings_ for her.

And judging by the way her heart had stuttered and dropped to her stomach every time Triana so much as breathed near her after that shower, they were pretty severe. Suddenly, all the idiotic things couples did, the same ones that once caused her only discomfort, made perfect sense. Her sister’s willing to risk their very lives for Ashe made sense. Stupid damn _love songs_ made sense.

She _hated_ that.

Cassiopeia was quite certain she didn’t deserve to have Triana. Nearly as certain as she was that one day she wouldn’t. Because feelings –that would remain without a name for as long as she could help it, have some semblance of _control_ over it— were bound to lead only one way.

To ruin.

So, yes, Cassiopeia remained in her study far longer than necessary. To reestablish authority over her emotions and to meticulously repair her mask of distant, cool poise.

When she finally came out she went straight for her chambers, glad and disappointed at the same time that Triana was nowhere in sight. The noble went about her nightly routine in the bathroom, put on her lotions and cremes and finally slipped under her heavy covers.

True to her nightly ritual, she checked the latest League news and gossip on her phone. More wild speculation about the nature of Lissandra’s relationship with her summoner, still firmly holding the number one Challenger spot. More public pining over Evelynn and the pretty, blue-eyed girl she was unabashedly fawning over, behind camera lenses. Katarina’s name was at the headlines with the other two, but Cassiopeia was shocked to see an entire column dedicated to Triana and her around there, as well.

A particular article about ‘ _How to have skin like Elise in ten easy steps!_ ’ caught her eye and made her lip curl in amusement, especially the part that involved snail cream. _She wouldn’t go near such a thing if it was the last skincare product on Runeterra._

A knock then came at her door.

Cassiopeia knew Triana was behind it just by the way her knuckles had tapped on the dark wood.

“Come in.” she called.

An angelic golden bloom graced the Shuriman’s crown from the dim light of the hallway. Beautiful; yet It made the shadows clinging to her face that much deeper. Glowing lime orbs gazed upon her in concern. Never had the blonde’s shoulders been anything other than proudly squared as she walked, never had her movements been so _heavy_.

“Triana.” she spoke, an unasked question hidden in her name.

The mage slipped in beside her. Paused for a moment. Then leaned forward, tucking her head into the crook of Cassiopeia’s neck in a surprisingly vulnerable motion. The noble’s hands numbly wrapped around her, a loose circle. Triana felt like cracked glass in her arms; one indelicate push and all she’d be left with would be jagged pieces.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, a hushed whisper by her lover’s ear.

The blonde didn’t speak, just held on tighter. The moment she shifted, ever-so-slightly, so her eyes were against the champion’s pillow, Cassiopeia realized she was crying. No sobs wrecked her body, no sound left her lips, but somehow she knew that she was.

Silent tears. Silent pain. Always silent.

Cassiopeia’s carefully constructed mask cracked right down the middle.

“Tell me what’s wrong, darling, I’m here for you.” The words slipped past her lips before she could filter them. “Whatever’s hurting you, I’ll make it disappear.” And she would. No price felt too high to remove that quiet agony from the mage, just like she had done for her.

All was silent in the room for several minutes.

“Cass.” Triana said, her voice deceptively steady. A soft hum was given by the blonde’s ear. “Can we… stay like this for a while?”

Cassiopeia’s body answered for her, impenetrable tail coiling around them, an added layer of defense to keep her girl safe from harm, _close_.

“Of course, darling. For as long as you wish.”

Her hand, on a mind of its own, slid underneath Triana’s slack shirt, claws kept a fraction above tan skin as the pads of normal fingers trailed over the faint ridges of the tattoo crudely woven there. Names etched by a blade, rather than magic. Curves and lines and letters born from pain, _in_ pain, engraved as an epitaph to be carried for life.

Her touch lingered over Shurima’s crest and wings, spanning from shoulder to shoulder. At the name at the helm of Triana’s tribute. Sometimes, it felt like the tattoo held much more weight than she let show. A weight almost physical.

_Sometimes, it feels as though you bear all of Shurima on your back._

_From rise… to fall._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to write this scene with Katarina and Triana since the moment I conceived the initial idea for this story, so it really feels like it's come a long way, now. The two of them are parallels, kindred spirits born in different eras. Their understanding of the other goes deeper than all the other characters in the story. Katarina can feel it but can't explain it. Triana knows why that is, since she sees parts of her old self in the assassin. Plus they are the same kind of assholes, so they match. 
> 
> As for Xerath's revelation, you'll see next chapter why Triana doesn't want to call her mother's spirit from the dead to speak to her. Necromancy is a tricky thing and in Shurima (which in my fic -and in general- is heavily influenced by Ancient Egypt) death and the memory of the dead is a sacred thing. Keep this in mind when all of Triana's backstory hits the fan, as to why exactly she loathes Azir so much. 
> 
> Lastly, sorry for the 2-week wait for an update, I had a pretty bad writer's block and needed time off, to go to some other fandoms and then come back stronger. But I'm here now with an intense chapter, so hopefully it makes up for that!


	24. Chapter 24

**[Azir]**

Ever since his rebirth, he’d known something was missing.

A crucial piece of himself lost, like his once-great Empire. Buried underneath the sand, perhaps awaiting the right moment, the right circumstances, to be excavated. Yet it caused the Emperor great frustration to _feel_ it there, _just_ out of reach, underneath the rubble of fragmented memories, deep in the heart of the fog lingering at the edges of his mind.

He had searched ardently for the missing piece. 

Azir kept commanding the ancient sands to reconstruct the scene of his death, hoping that the answer was hidden there. Instead, each time he gazed upon it, the chaos of what should have been his Ascension, he was only left with more questions.

Xerath had tainted the holy ritual, struck from behind when it was least expected, but he couldn’t have done so if something hadn’t first drawn everyone’s attention. The vague forms the sand showed were turned to one direction; some in fear, others in disbelief, though _all_ in surprise.

_What was it they saw that the sands refuse to show me?_

Soldiers that should have blocked off the path to the Dias were dead. His son, to be crowned Emperor after Azir became a God, was lying defeated higher up the steps, beside his consort, both in a pool of their own blood. A stab wound to his gut, a slash at her neck. Almost deliberate, so she wouldn’t speak, so he would watch her die before following her to the afterlife. Only a monster would have done such a thing.

And it didn’t stop there.

At the apex of the grand staircase underneath the Dias, where Azir’s own wife, pregnant with their second child, had been standing, was another cold-hearted murder. The shadow the sands could not recreate had grabbed her from behind. Although the assailant’s form was an accursed, dissipating blur, the empress’ terror was all too painfully clear. Her eyes wide in agony, in horror, her belly _gutted_. The phantom –the wraith— stood above her as she chocked on her own breath.

Azir’s blood _boiled_ in his veins.

It would be all too easy to blame everything on Xerath. To have just one enemy. But the Magus was upon the Dias, pushing him to burn away in the beam of light as he turned it to darkness. No –whoever murdered his guards and his family had come from below. It was someone _else_.

Renekton was too far lost to be of any help to his cause. Nasus was… strangely defensive, every time the subject was brought up.

Worst of all, Xerath _knew_.

He had one day claimed, while laughing under his breath, that he could see the distress of the Emperor’s soul. That it was crying out against his actions to remember. 

_“What do you possibly mean by that?”_ Azir had asked him.

The reply had been most troubling, positively pushing the Emperor to madness: _“You forgot not because of your transformation, but because your mind needed to protect itself. You forgot… what you could not stand to_ remember _.”_

He was at the end of his patience.

That day was the breaking point. He would force answers out of Nasus even if it meant clawing them out of him. The Guardian was, after all, the last person other than his mortal enemy who could speak of everything that occurred, at the apex of Shurima’s fall.

To his surprise… Nasus came to him first.

Head downcast, eyes betraying his inner turmoil. Was it his match against Xerath that broke him, or the weight of the secret he carried for so long? Either way, Azir regarded him coldly as he began to speak.

“We may not have much time, so I will be brief, my Emperor.” Nasus began. “For three years now, you have asked me what happened that day. What killed your wife and son and what else you have forgotten. I… have always eluded the answer.” he admitted.

Azir’s hand clenched into a tight fist at his side.

“But everything I did, I thought was for your own good.” he continued. “Some parts of the past are best left there, forgotten. Some people best remain ghosts for eternity.”

The Emperor’s staff slammed against the ground, causing large, spreading cracks across the once-pristine, empty stage. “ _Enough_! No more riddles! You will tell me _everything_ , right this second!”

“…I will.” Nasus nodded, solemn. Calm, only on the outside. “Though I think it is best if I show you.” He extended his hand, palm-up, between them.

Azir’s emerald gaze narrowed. _How am I to trust you now…?_

“Please. It is one of my own memories that I am certain will unlock a big part of yours.”

The second contact was made…

_Azir was back in his bejeweled, golden throne, two thousand years into the past. Shurima was sprawling as far as the sun’s rays reached. She was beautiful –but not as beautiful as the woman standing in front of him, underneath the three steps leading to the elevated ground of the throne._

_She was not kneeling. All guards had been dismissed, save for Nasus. Azir’s eyes couldn’t leave her crystal-white, tunic-clad form even for a second, not even to admire the empire he had so greatly missed._

_The woman held herself like someone of great status, although something told him she had been but a minor noble when they first met. He realized he’d known her for a long time, perhaps his entire life. That he had wanted her just as long._

_And who wouldn’t want a goddess by their side?_

_She wasn’t like anyone else in Shurima. A singularity, utterly exotic; with her lighter skin, though still kissed by the sun, her bright green eyes and the contrast her blonde hair made with it. And despite the striking features, she had the softest, sweetest, most patient smile upon her lips, like that the sun itself gave the earth, every dawn._

_Azir felt like he wanted to cry at the sight of her._

_But this was Nasus’ memory he was experiencing. His words and actions were out of his control. “Sazriel.” his voice came, laced with raw emotion. Anger?_

_His body stance was defensive. Hiding something. That was when he realized there was a heavy, gold-and-black sceptre held tightly in his grasp. It pulsed and ebbed with a strange, mystical energy that would tempt even saints into using –abusing— its raw power._

_The woman, Sazriel, took another step forward. “Azir.” she said, her voice soothing, unwavering. “You asked me here to help, don’t pull away from me now. I know it calls you. I know it’s trying to influence your mind. Don’t let it.”_

_“I can’t— I can’t part with it. Who would give up this much power? I can do anything with this! I can have the whole world.”_

_“No.” she shook her head. “The world is not meant to be had in this way. This ancient relic is not a gift from the Gods. It is a mistake. It should have remained in the womb of the earth forever.” Another step. “Let me take this burden away. What you need is already yours. And what you want, you can have.”_

But I can’t have you. _the thought_ burned _in his mind. He_ remembered _._

_“I… don’t know what to do.” he admitted._

_“You know if you keep the sceptre it will ruin you, turn you into someone you are not. Trust me to seal it away –and should Shurima need its power, I will return it to you.” she said, taking the final step. She was right there, but he knew he could not touch her._

_The Sun’s High Priestess was holy. Even to the Emperor who owned the world… she was out of reach._

_The sceptre was tainting his mind with thoughts he shouldn’t have. That with its power he could change everything, even the laws established in Shurima by the Gods themselves. He could reshape it in his image –and he could be with her, his first and only love,_ forever _._

_“Azir, please.”_

_…but she was asking for him to let go._

“ _My love.”_

_The sceptre had no power over him, compared to those two words._

_He gladly offered it. Part of him was relieved to watch it go._

_Nasus inclined his head, silently agreeing this was the correct choice._

When he came back to reality, Azir noticed several water drops crash onto the broken floor of the arena. He wondered where they may have come from… until he realized they were leaking from his own eyes. Sliding past the golden armor fused with his skin, then free-falling.

“Long before you took Verenir to be your empress-consort, you had chosen another.” Nasus explained, though he did not have to. “Sazriel had been your childhood sweetheart –and you promised to have her rule by your side one day. The two of you were so in sync, in perfect harmony. Do you remember?”

Azir’s throat felt impossibly tight. “…yes.” he managed to say. “I loved her.”

And he had loved her so _much_.

However, after the passing of the High Priestess she… started to have those cursed _visions_. She would wake up at night bathed in cold sweat. Several times during the day, she would get a distant look in her eye, lost, whispering about the sun coming down. Gradually, she changed. Closed off.

Sazriel knew what had to be done, but Azir had spent too long in bitter denial to support her. He did not even see her off when she left to become the next High Priestess.

Looking back… it was a coward’s move.

So was going around Shurima, gathering the most stunning of its women for his harem. So was trying to forget her. 

“Is that all you remember?” Nasus asked.

“The rest… is still all blank.” he half-lied. He recalled parts of himself he was not the least bit proud of. Yet something major was still lost to him.

“Then this is the moment I have to tell you –you had a daughter with her.”

Azir’s head snapped up. His chest constricted with a multitude of emotions. Pride, joy, anger. Hurt.

And at the helm of it all… gut-wrenching _guilt_.

“What?! How could I not remember having a daughter?!” his voice roared across the arena. Denial used as armor once more. 

“Because she was your greatest treasure… until she turned into your greatest pain. She was a hero who allowed herself to turn into a monster, after Sazriel’s death. You did what you had to do to stop her. You wanted her to see reason. Instead… she saw only your end.”

Azir was frozen on the spot. _Surely, Nasus is not implying…_

“Asenath is the one you cannot see in the sands, for she has disconnected herself entirely from the sun and embraced the darkness. She conspired with Xerath to bring you down –and they were both locked away in the Emperors’ tomb by Renekton and I.” Nasus spoke, his hand trembling. “But in our previous match, Xerath infiltrated my mind to learn about the sceptre. And I caught a glimpse of his.”

Asenath. The mere mention of that name was like a cut right down Azir’s middle.

“Somehow… she is still alive.” Nasus stated. “I know not where, but it won’t be long before she has the sceptre. We must act.”

**[Triana]**

Her hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

She could not wrestle her emotions under control. It was only a matter of time before Cassiopeia saw that she was falling apart. Triana took a walk outside, by herself, hoping to clear her head and finally come to a decision. It was easier said than done, when she felt that pieces of herself were breaking off and crashing down at every step.

She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t abuse her own mother’s soul to learn of the sceptre’s location.

Triana was a necromancer, yes. She’d done terrible things for a selfish cause and accepted twisted, dark powers so she could become whole again. Anyone would, in her position. But there were limits to what she was willing to do. She had never tried to bring an unwilling soul back from the other side. She did not reanimate decayed corpses. In her eyes, it was an abhorrent thing.

Despite what her magic would imply, she respected death. She was a Shuriman, after all. It was sacred for those who had lived honorably and earned their rest. There were only a handful of souls she summoned as shades, to fight by her side. Those who _wished_ it.

She could not imagine her mother would want to speak to her, after all she did. The mage was terrified to find out if that really was the case. She was equally petrified of it being the opposite.

And if she did call her? In a sense, her shadow would be bound to Triana’s will. Such was the power of necromancy. All the summoner had to do was ask and the location of the sceptre would be given. Forcefully, if the other woman tried to resist. And should Triana reach the point of interrogating her own mother in such a way…

Well.

Then she wasn’t really any different than her coward of a father, who disrespected Sazriel’s spirit and memory. In fact, Triana would be worse. Worse than even the thing she loathed for centuries –which was certainly a new low, even for her.

_But with the sceptre’s power…._

_I can make everything right again._

All of Shurima. All of Azir’s mistakes. All of her own.

She wouldn’t have to reanimate anyone in a crude mockery of life, to have them back at her side.

Her hand turned Xerath’s stone around and around, in her pocket. His advice and his presence were greatly needed, but it was clear he wasn’t in his right mind to provide either. The Xerath she once knew would never have asked her to force her mother’s soul into giving her anything.

Triana had always called him ‘uncle’, even though her father didn’t allow it. But she considered him family and acted as such, despite of what the snobbish, useless nobles may have thought. He was not a slave. He had always been a mentor, no different than Renekton and a shoulder to lean on, even though she was far too proud to admit it.

But.

He was losing himself. In the passage of time, in hatred or in his Ascension was yet uncertain.

Triana let out a loud huff. She had wandered too far –and ended up in the woods outside of Noxus’ Capital. The opposite direction of a temple once built in her name, ruins by that point. In front of her was a massive lake, shrouded in the shadows of the nearby trees. Its waters were still, dark, serene.

Triana found it peaceful.

It would be beautiful if there was even a sliver of moonlight in the night sky, but the clouds were thick enough to obscure the light –and so the scenery could only be considered eerie, for most.

_Can’t move forward without having made a decision. Can’t go back._

_…Can necromancy give the bound soul an actual choice?_

_“Anything’s possible.”_ Xerath had once told her about magic. That was the wonderful, terrifying thing about it.

Hazel eyes dropped to the water. The way it caressed the ground without smothering it. The way the two so naturally blended together. Her mother always had a deep appreciation for the element. It suited her. She was elegant and fluid and calm like it. She could be just as devastating if she wanted.

Triana wondered if her magic could be like that. Unassertive, modest, rather than demanding and absolute.

A surge of power bubbled from the depths of her being, almost in reply. 

Tempted, she spread her palm over the water, barely touching its surface. She called a name that hadn’t been called in two thousand years, one at the first rows engraved onto her back. A name she had given herself to a slave worthy of it, when she recruited him into her service. Into her warrior ghosts, her beloved assassins.

“Abraxas. Arise.” until her voice was released into the night, she hadn’t been certain if she had recovered enough of her power to make it happen.

Her right eye shifted, slightly less human. Darkness spread past her hands, into the lake, rising along with the water into a humanoid form. The spiked light armor he had worn in life decorated his body. The black, shadow-and-water made figure cocked his neck to each side as though to destress muscles that were no longer there.

Triana abruptly stood. “You’re really here.” The vision of her normal eye blurred with unshed tears.

The shade took a step forward. Took a knee in front of her. Offered his hand, as if to say ‘I am, it’s okay.’ Triana tried to grasp it, but her fingers slipped through the watery shadows. Both of them deflated.

“Stand. You know I hate it when you guys kneel for me.” She always said it. They always kneeled regardless.

The assassin rose to his full height. A small tether united their shadows, a link unseen to the eye but projected onto the ground like a physical bond. Through it, the shadow passed his thoughts onto her, much like a champion-summoner connection. _“I do.”_

Oh, and to hear his voice after centuries… “Abraxas. Did I force you to come?”

 _“Never. You know this.”_ he said, calm and collected as ever. _“We belong to you, in life and in death. When you call, we will defend you.”_

“But did you have a choice just now? Could you not answer my summon if you wanted?” she pressed.

 _“It did not cross my mind, but yes. I believe I had a choice.”_ he replied.

“And can you just tell me to screw off if I ask you something you don’t want to answer?”

 _“Why would I ever do something like that?!”_ Abraxas asked, offended at the notion. Triana huffed. She summoned the wrong person for the job. She should have called Senthir, who was less knight-like and more of an asshole. 

“You wouldn’t, but _can_ you? Just try it.” Triana said. “I want you to tell me the name of the horse I gifted you.” she spoke it as an order, but didn’t transmit it through the bond, to see if he could refuse her command. 

_“As opposed I am to this and as much as it pains me to say it… screw you.”_ Abraxas said.

Triana’s lip curled into a brilliant grin. “Thank you. Abraxas, I wish I could keep you here longer, but…”

There was one more person she needed to summon and her mana was running too low. She’d once been able to call six shadows around her at a time. It was clear her abilities were still recovering after being locked away in that magic-negating tomb for two thousand years.

 _“I understand.”_ he said. _“Speak my name when you need me. The world has changed, but we have not. Your enemies are our enemies.”_

Triana watched as the shadow slipped back into the water, rippling its surface until not a trace was left behind.

A deep breath was drawn into her lungs.

She approached the lake one more time…

…

But she lost the nerve.

Triana was suddenly overcome by the greatest anxiety she’d ever felt in her life, a sort of prolonged panic attack rising all the way from her gut to grab at her throat like a prisoner’s iron collar, fastened too tight. She’d learned to deal with the sudden, crushing asphyxiation, more mental than physical, inside the Emperors’ tomb. When she’d felt that she would go mad from the absence of light. When the walls seemed to constrict and crush her between them.

This was different.

She dashed back to the mansion, as though to outrun something chasing her. Triana slowed down several minutes later, at the main gate. Still, her steps were hurried as she walked up to the porch, trying to get her breathing back under control.

She didn’t even notice the door open, until she walked straight into something both solid and soft, smelling of fabric softener and flowers blooming in a field of snow.

Impossibly vivid teal orbs widened a fraction. Cool hands flew to her biceps to steady her.

“Ashe.” Triana breathed and it almost felt like a cry for help.

“Triana, are you okay?” the woman asked, checking her for any signs of harm. “You look… off.”

“I’m fine.” The lie burst out of her tongue reflexively. “Is Cassiopeia here?”

“No, she and Kat had to leave for an urgent meeting and Talon is accompanying Freya to the market.” Ashe said. “What happened?”

Hazel eyes looked to the side. “It’s just… not a very good day for me.” came the admission.

The queen’s hands fell from her arms, but the sheer understanding in her expression almost felt like physical contact. “We all have those. Come take a walk with me.”

Triana thought to decline. She needed to be alone –she had _always_ dealt with her pain alone. And yet, something about Ashe’s natural calm, the aura of genuine goodness she exuded, made her silently follow.

They made their way to the back gardens, a side path the blonde hadn’t explored before. The white-haired beauty took a seat at a ledge towards the end of the road, overlooking the distant lights of Noxus’ lower-ring cities, a faint glimmer in the vast dark. She motioned for Triana to sit next to her.

The Shuriman expected questions. Perhaps gentle prods, to make her open up. But Ashe was a steady, quiet, soothing presence by her side, not pushing nor pulling. Waiting, patient. It was a wonder how she could speak without speaking: ‘I’m here if you wish to talk, I’ll still be here if you don’t.’.

Triana let her gaze travel far.

“It’s strange that you don’t ask what’s wrong.” she spoke up eventually. “But not unappreciated.”

“You will evade the question if I ask it.” Ashe replied knowingly. “You’re _far_ more like Katarina than you look.”

“Are you calling me an insufferable ass?” Triana inquired, a faint smirk curling at her lip.

The archer let out a soft laugh. “You could just take it as a compliment.” A beat of silence passed. “…Though, if I’m to say anything, I must say it is cathartic, sometimes, to let things out. And it goes without saying everything you do share stays between us.” Triana needed to hear it regardless.

The mage leaned a tad back, letting loose the breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. It turned to a puff of smoke past her lips. “Ashe.” she said. “You’re a queen, right?”

“Well… the technical term is Warmother. But since Sejuani and Lissandra have taken to calling themselves ‘queens’ to appeal more to those outside Freljord, I suppose I did the same. Not for a great desire of the title.” It was obvious, really, that authority wasn’t something she sought. It had found her, though and she did a fine job of carrying it on her shoulders.

“Say that Freljord, the kingdom you gave up so much for, was falling apart before your eyes. But you also knew that you had the power to remove all that was tainting it, just like that." A snap of her fingers. "Would you use it?” Triana asked.

“To enforce my vision in the blink of an eye, too many would have to perish. Even those I do not like or agree with are my people. I am working towards changing their mindsets, making our land better, one step at a time.”

“And if their mindsets cannot be changed? If the only way to fix everything is to wipe the slate clean?” the blonde pressed. “Keep the parts that are good and just –cut away the rest?”

“Power is not an easy thing to wield justly, Triana. The lines blur once you have it in your hand.” Ashe turned slightly towards her. There was… hurt, in her eyes. “Who am I, to judge all others? How much do I cut? How much is too much?”

The summoner considered that.

“Not to mention, in this perfect land left in such a scenario, there would yet be a taint.” Triana met her gaze. “Myself.”

Of course, she’d thought of that. Countless times, when all she had, a step before madness, was thinking. Envisioning. But right and wrong were always decided by the person at the top. So Triana had vowed to make her own ‘right’ the only one that could be.

She was certain the answer would change, even for Ashe, if the parameter of having anybody she wished in her kingdom, both from the living and the dead, was added in. If a simple trade was all it would take –a soul for a soul, a body for a body. A killer dying so a saint could live again sounded like an acceptable deal to her.

“Have you ever….” she hesitated to voice her next thought.

Ashe waited.

“Have you ever wondered if, for example… your family is disappointed in who you’ve become?” That felt like pulling teeth.

“Oh. All the time.” Ashe nodded, utterly sincere. “My father would be proud, I think. My mother probably… not so much.” A slight grimace of pain. “But I like to think if you really love someone and they take a different path from the one you intended –even a wrong one, even a dark one— you don’t turn your back on them. You can’t.”

Triana felt her eyes sting at that. She looked away.

“Is it your family that has you so upset?” Ashe questioned in a soft tone.

“…yes.” she admitted, her voice hoarse. “I don’t think my mother would want to see me, after some of the things I’ve done.”

The archer stood, circled around …and before Triana could wonder what the woman was doing, cool arms pulled her into a secure embrace. Which was a terrible, terrible thing, because it only made her struggle against tears that much harder to win.

“Don’t say that.” Ashe spoke. “It’s not true. If your roles were reversed, would you not want to see her?”

Triana… had not thought of that. And their roles did not have to be reversed for her to be hurt by all that Sazriel kept from her. The High Priestess saw into the future enough to have a mask forged for her ruined face one year before it happened. Yet she did not warn her against it. She saw her own death and how it would scar her –and still she did not avoid it.

_Why?!_

And through all her bitterness, Triana forgave her. Whatever Sazriel’s reasons were, she could not be angry for them. She could never be angry with her.

The mage leaned further into Ashe’s shoulder.

“I was feeling the same way you do, until the day I heard Freya speak about the Du Couteaus. They could stab her through the heart, she said, one after the other and she would still only want to see them smile, from this world or the next. A mother’s love is –and should be— unconditional.”

_Eternal._

…

Triana had been lounging in bed, more in a meditative state to recover her spent mana quicker, than actual sleep. Precariously balanced on the line between consciousness and subconsciousness...

When a familiar presence loomed outside her door. The mage could practically feel Cassiopeia’s hand resting against the wood, debating whether or not to knock. When it didn’t seem like she was going to, the blonde blinked hazel eyes open and spoke up.

“Come in, Cass.”

A fond huff. The door opened just a tad, revealing an outline of styled curls, leading down to a royal, fiery-red Noxian garb and lean arms decorated by a multitude of bracelets.

Cassiopeia slithered in, until the bed was dipping by Triana’s side and a pair of intense green eyes were looking down, into her own. “I didn’t want to wake you.”

“Depending on how you do it, I do.” A wink followed the words.

Those lime gems scanned her up and down. Then, tempted, Cassiopeia leaned in, something so regal in the motion, barely taking Triana’s bottom lip between her own. When the blonde went to press further into her, she pulled back, instead making a _show_ of taking off her earrings.

The Shuriman didn’t know it was possible to feel so teased by the removal of a simple accessory. Something in the way Cassiopeia’s eye crinkled at the corner hinted that she knew just how big of an effect she had.

“Let me help you with your dress.” Triana suggested none-too-innocently, reaching for her, but the woman easily took her hands and pinned them, slowly, on either side of her head.

“I don’t require any help.” she smirked, sitting up again to hook a claw in the circle of the zipper and draw it tortuously leisurely down her side. The fluidity of her movements as she shrugged out of the tight fabric –she was left with only a lacy black bra that hugged her chest _just right_ – was something to be admired.

Triana certainly did a lot of admiring.

Cassiopeia assumed that authoritative stance over her, close, but not close enough. Her eyes narrowed without any real malice. “Ashe’s scent clings to you.”

“Jealous?” Triana let out a throaty chuckle.

The noblewoman leaned in to kiss her, only to, yet again, turn away at the last second. It was equal parts frustrating and unbelievably sexy. Triana squirmed under her, suddenly too _warm._ Dark lips pressed to the shell of her ear, moving in a sinful whisper:

“You _wish_.”

“I do. It’s hot.” Triana answered with one of her own.

Cassiopeia drew back only to roll her eyes. Then, as her gaze fell back to the mage’s face, something softer –concern?— smoothed the edges of possessive seduction. “You… were very upset last night. Are you alright now?”

“Yes…” Triana drew the word, letting her fingers graze flawless pale skin, down to emerald scales.

“And are you trying to use sex to avoid talking about it?” the champion questioned.

“Yes…”

A chuckle escaped them both. Triana did have ulterior motives for coaxing the noble to give into the passion always palpable between them, but she didn’t really need one. She’d take any chance to be as close to Cassiopeia as possible. It was ironic, that for someone who could be such a smooth-talker she couldn’t find the words –or the courage— to say that. To say it out loud, that merely being beside the noble turned her bad moods good, that it was both addicting and exhilarating.

That she needed her.

“Hey. Will you stay the night?” Triana asked with a smile hiding all the vulnerability she hated to feel.

“I really shouldn’t.” Cassiopeia said, quietly, possibly fighting a battle of her own.

“…but will you?” _Please do._

A defeated nod. Soft brown hair falling to Triana’s neck. Even softer lips pressing a kiss there. Then a terrifying thought occurred to the Shuriman, one that wouldn’t let her rest for the remainder of the night, one that kept her up, uneasy, long after the noblewoman had succumbed to the land of dreams in her arms.

It was only for a second, she told herself. She was tired, she wasn’t thinking straight.

But still, even for that one second…

She entertained the notion of allowing herself to be in love with Cassiopeia.

And love, she knew, for someone like her, did not end with sunlight and happiness. For all parties involved, it ended with darkness and _pain_. The images of everything she’d relished destroyed haunted her mind’s eye.

Triana knew there was only one way to be set free.

She carefully extracted her body from Cassiopeia’s.

Then, she made for the lake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew I changed soo many things about this chapter over and over until I was satisfied with it. And let me say, I cannot wait to write the next one. 
> 
> For now, I'll just share I really wanted Ashe and Triana bonding time <3, a fallen empress asking for advice a revered queen out of respect for who she is. And our dear archer, of course, being a sweetheart. Last but not least, because I think in most stories there is no clear-cut ''villain'', it's time to see things from Azir's point of view, as well. The audience, from Triana's eyes, so far, is convinced he is worthy of hate. But when everything is laid bare, his side against hers, that opinion may even change. 
> 
> Thank you all for your wonderful comments and fanart/interactions! Much love!


	25. Chapter 25

**[Triana]**

The waters were perfectly still in the small hours of the morning. Without a single disturbance on their surface they looked like glass; a flawless mirror reflecting the sky, the clouded moon.

Triana willed herself not to slow her pace, though doubt and fear weighed heavily upon her shoulders. A million ‘what ifs’ were silenced by conviction. They had to be, in order for her to lean down and place her hand onto the crystalline liquid.

The familiar echo of necromagic spread across her right side. Triana took a deep breath. Focused her thoughts. Willed emotions away until only purpose remained. And then—

“Sazriel.” she spoke. A clean cut.

Waited.

But nothing happened.

A shaky breath escaped her lips, in the place of what could have been a sob. Triana stood to leave while her legs yet supported her. She turned around, hands balled into tight fists at her side, jaw clenched so hard lines formed on her face. _And what did you expect—_

The thought did not have time to settle in her mind. A pull, followed by a distortion of her shadow, made her freeze. She had pictured so many scenarios in her head of how to deal with her mother _not_ answering her summon that she hadn’t stopped to consider how to deal with it if she _did_.

Triana couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t turn around.

_“You called for me. Why won’t you face me… Asenath?”_

The sound of her name, her real one, from _her_ voice, was like a hammering onto an already cracked wall. It was the hit that broke it in, into pieces. The blonde bit the corner of her lip so hard it bled to keep some measure of control, some mockery of composure. The pain helped, but only briefly.

“I –can’t.” she replied.

 _“You want to ask me something. Go on. Ask me.”_ Sazriel urged, slow, calm and even as always. Like not a day had passed since she stood with her hand on Triana’s hair or shoulders, giving advice. Yet a lot of days had passed. Too many.

The mage tried to ask what she wanted known. Mid-way to the sentence materializing, however, it shifted course to what she _needed_ to know. A simple, hoarse “ _Why_?” spilled from her lips, a thousand questions summarized into one word.

 _“Do not hold your anger back, love. It is rending you apart.”_ the woman spoke. _“Let it out. Say what you wish to say.”_

“You… saw. You saw _everything_.” Triana accused, trembling like the beginning of an earthquake. “You already knew everything that was going to happen.” In a volcanic explosion, she twisted around, wide, mismatched eyes set on the hooded shade, clad in darkness shaped like the High Priestess’ tunic. “To you! To _me_! How could you keep all that in?! How could you let me suffer that fall— _how_ could you stay silent that morning, knowing it was the last time I would get to see you?!”

A dark, auric wave rattled the surrounding stones and sent lash-like ripples across the lake. By the time Triana’s outburst quieted, her left eye’s vision was a blur of tears. Her right, cold, entirely void of sentiment.

_“I couldn’t, but I had to. For the alternative was much worse. A nightmare I would give anything to avoid.”_

“Worse than the nightmare _I_ became?” A cruel sneer formed on the mage’s mouth, her accent thick with the hurt flooding her system.

 _“Worse than any nightmare you could ever become. If I had warned you and lived you would have never torn Shurima asunder. And if you hadn’t… the Void would have risen. It would have fed on the power of the Sun Disk and the Eternum sceptre— and swallowed everything. Reality itself as we know it.”_ Sazriel explained, pained but still collected. _“I watched a thousand visions of you die in the claws of its fiends until I realized there was no other way.”_

Triana was unable to comprehend the revelation. “I—I don’t understand.”

_“The Void leaks through cracks between the veil of worlds. The power Shurima drew from the Sun Disk gradually thinned that veil. Underneath our empire, our temples and palaces, swelled the darkness. It grew at an alarming rate –it could not be stopped— until you quite literally brought the sun down upon it. As a result, only Icathia and a few other regions were lost before it retreated, rather than all of Runeterra.”_

The blonde stood there, suddenly cold, speechless. It wasn’t something she could accept or forgive right away, but it was an answer regardless. An answer she’d desperately needed for thousands of years.

“You’re saying you sacrificed Shurima… for the good of the world?” she asked, quietly.

 _“If only I could be so noble.”_ Sazriel inclined her head. _“Certainly, that is how I justified my decision to myself, at first. But now it is perfectly clear to me; I sacrificed Shurima for_ you _.”_

Triana didn’t know what an arrow nor a blade to the heart was like –she had never been pierced in combat.

But she imagined it would feel like _that_.

And if all her mother revealed was true, then it was that much clearer what she needed to do. “All of this can be undone.” she said, hardening her voice so it wouldn’t break. “If you give me the location of the sceptre.”

 _“Perhaps it is not meant to be undone.”_ Sazriel replied. _“I will tell you the same thing I told your father; it is a power that should_ not _exist.”_

“But it does.” Triana countered. “So, trust me with it.”

There was a long, pregnant pause between them.

The blonde held her ground, but she did not force her will through the shadow bond.

Until, finally…

_“Underneath the ruins of the Sun Temple, past the catacombs I never let you traverse as a child, there is an ancient vault, filled with the weapons of Shurima’s fallen heroes. Be warned of the deadly traps; at their end lies a lock which can only be opened by the blood of an Ascended. The needle it holds is one of the few artefacts that can pierce their skin.”_

“I…” Triana had no words. She never dared think Sazriel would give the answer so easily.

 _“It is as you said. I trust you with it.”_ In a tone that stated ‘I trust you will make the right choice’. _“But, Asenath. There is always another way. Shurima_ can _be rebuilt without sacrifice. You and its greatest heroes are still here.”_

Triana took a step closer to the shadow, solemn and defeated. “… _You_ are not.”

 _“I am at peace. And_ always _with you.”_ her tone softened, much more a mother’s than the High Priestess’. Triana burned to reach out, to touch her, but it would hurt that much more for her fingers to just pass through a cold, watery shade. _“You can have peace, too, love. You know you can. Here, with a new start. With a new name. You can let the past lie buried in the sands.”_

The scariest part was that she’d thought about it.

On nights she spent with Cassiopeia and the rest of the Du Couteau family. On mornings she woke up beside her gorgeous champion and walked down the stairs to see Katarina and Talon bickering like children, while Freya and Ashe regarded them from the side, exasperated.

The scariest part was… she could be content with that future.

Triana could.

Asenath could not.

“I _can’t_.” she whispered. She’d spent two thousand years at war. With herself, with darkness, with everything that led to her imprisonment. She had grown too cold, inside, outside, to give up the struggle that kept her going for centuries.

Sazriel reached forward. A shadowy hand grasped at Triana’s nape –the will behind the action making the touch nearly corporeal— and pulled her in, so her head was tucked between a slender shoulder and neck. If the blonde closed her eyes, the contact was real.

 _“Forgive me, my daughter.”_ Sazriel said, her voice wavering as though she was crying. _“Please, forgive me. None of this is your fault. You’ve carried the weight for so long, but_ none _of this is your fault.”_

“Mom—”

But before she could say anything, before she could wrap her arms around the shadow, it slipped from her fingers, scattered and fell into the lake as no more than dark droplets. Triana was left with just air; out of mana to sustain the nercomagic any longer.

Her fingers curled into white-knuckled fists.

Her mother’s words had softened some of the jagged edges, but a dark voice still whispered in the back of her mind… _you almost have the sceptre. And soon, you will no longer have to rely on shadows or borrowed time to see her._

_All that’s needed is one final sacrifice._

_…_

The house was still quiet, all its residents asleep, by the time Triana returned.

She climbed the stairs to the upper floor in a way only an assassin could muster, in utter silence. In her mind, she already had an excuse ready in case Cassiopeia woke up the moment she entered her room, but the noble did not stir from her peaceful slumber.

Hazel eyes cast one soft, longing look at the rich curls spilled across her pillow and crisp white sheets, blending so naturally with the champion’s ivory skin. The Shuriman had to force her body away from the captivating sight, towards the bathroom, instead. A hot shower would do wonders for her muscles and get rid of any scent of dark magic or the forest lingering on her person. She needn’t weave more lies if Cassiopeia never inquired about those details.

The hot water was almost a godly gift in that moment. Triana slumped against the shower wall, exhausted, both physically and mentally. For a mage, there was not a sensation more humbling than being left manaless, without the essence to draw on their power. For an assassin, not a worse feeling than being unable to rely on their reflexes.

Triana had always been the master of her own body. A body that had _never_ failed her.

_Blades clashed and grated against each other. Repeatedly. Ceaselessly._

_The cacophony rattled the entire palace court, but the two combatants did not ease up on the barrage of attacks. There was a reason both were proud bearers of the mark of the exalted; they never slowed in combat until they were either victorious or dead._

_There was only one thing in the world that would make them stop: the signal of the Emperor._

_And Azir gave it, when the nobles surrounding him seemed unable to stand the screeching of steel any longer. “You two, enough.” His hand raised in a cutting motion, but the smile in his voice was unmistakable._

_Renekton pulled back with a pleased growl, while Triana bowed, beaming at her master, chest rising and falling in rapid breaths. A hearty round of applause followed that neither of the warriors cared much for. The adrenaline of the fight was its own reward._

_“Asenath.” the Emperor’s voice drew her attention. “Walk with me.” His long, regal-gold and stark-white robes billowed as he descended the steps of his throne._

_All eyes were on them when he offered his elbow; and touching the Emperor was no small thing. Asenath’s lip curled softly at him, but the edge of her smile turned sharp enough to_ cut _when it landed on the dark look his empress-consort fixed her with. She took great pleasure in leaving the coquettish bitch behind, utterly forgotten, along with her undeserving son._

_“What about me, father?” he asked, begging to get noticed, but Azir pinned him in place with a mere glance._

_“Stay with your mother, Seakir. I wish to speak with my daughter alone.” Asenath raised her chin at him. Azir urged her along, away from the thirsty eyes of the chamber. “Do not challenge him, Asenath. He is as much my blood as you are.”_

_“One could hardly tell, looking at us side by side.” she gave an arrogant smirk, the kind girls in Shurima were known to be weak for. She loved speaking facts and adored letting her achievements do the boasting for her. No matter what poor Seakir did to prove himself in combat or his studies, he would_ never _compare to her feats._

_It was as scholars all over the Empire said; she was shined upon by the Gods since birth._

_“Why must you make everything into a competition? You are already my Firstborn. Already the Empress to succeed me.” Azir said._

_And she wanted to reply, so very many things. Because it was not her mother on the throne beside him. Because she had to_ earn _her place at the palace and then choose between that and the Temple where Sazriel resided, always one parent short._

_“I wonder who you take after.” the Emperor said. Asenath gave him a look that had ‘do you really?’ written all over it._

_They both burst into a fit of chuckles._

And yet, the warmth of the memory left her utterly cold, even under the scalding water. Because Triana knew what followed after it. That only a few months later, the proud look had evaporated from her father’s eyes. Only months later… he did not look at her like the gem of his empire and his crown.

He did not look at her _at all_. 

And when hazel eyes turned downwards into the small puddle of water that had formed on the shower’s floor, she could still see, in her mind’s eye, a scarred, burnt half of her face staring back at her in anguish.

Triana questioned if it was possible to move forward, when all she could see in her reflection were the scars of long ago. 

…

Cassiopeia was waiting for her in the kitchen, along with the rest of the Du Couteau residents, when Triana dressed up and embarked on the search of her morning coffee.

A steaming mug was pushed into her hands, while an elegant claw curled under her chin to guide her forward, for a quick kiss. Cassiopeia gave an equally rapid smile and the blonde wanted to tell her just how beautiful it was, but Katarina’s voice cut in, from her seat at the table.

“Gross. I do _not_ need to see you kissing my sister.” she hissed under her fringe.

“Your back is _literally_ turned to me.” Triana stated.

“I don’t need to picture it, then.” Katarina turned only to glare over her shoulder.

“Gods, you’re such a ray of sunshine in the mornings.” the blonde teased.

“Isn’t she.” Ashe laughed.

“I can stab her for the good of our nerves and the entire world.” Talon commented.

“You couldn’t stab me if I was strapped to this chair, blindfolded.” Katarina replied.

“This never gets old.” Triana shook her head.

“Better enjoy it now, because, come tomorrow, we’re back to the funhouse.” Talon said. “Which means Kat is going to be like this _not_ just in the morning, but _all_ day…”

“And we’re back to hating Ashe.” Cassiopeia finished his sentence for him.

The queen dropped her head to her forearm in dismay. “No…”

“I could never hate you, babe.” Katarina said, her hand uncharacteristically soft at the archer’s nape. “…Except for when you’re fed and on the enemy team.”

“So charming. And people wonder what I see in you.” Ashe grimaced sourly, but she was so pretty even _that_ looked straight out of a beauty photoshoot.

“Who wonders?” Kat asked, jaw agape. Everybody in the room exchanged looks and raised their hands simultaneously. Emerald eyes widened. “You too, Freya?!”

“I just remembered I must take out the trash.” the maid tactfully ducked out of the conversation, back to her everyday chores.

While Katarina continued to scowl and Cassiopeia leaned against the table to double down on the teasing, Triana’s eye followed the middle-aged woman. She seemed to struggle trying to lift a full garbage bag. The Shuriman’s body moved on instinct next to hers, a tan hand easily taking the weight.

“No, no, you shouldn’t—” she began to protest, but Triana shook her head.

“I’m not a noble.” Lies usually left her unaffected as she spoke them. They always had, but that one, though she wouldn’t admit it, stung. She was a noble, yet not _that_ kind of noble. Not the useless snobs she could recall from her past, looking over their noses at commonfolk, at slaves, like they were lesser beings. Overworking them to injury and death from their lavish seats.

“You could have fooled me.” Freya commented once they were out on the hallway. Hazel orbs snapped to her. “The way you behave, the way you talk, even the way you sit… I can easily picture you amongst nobility.”

Triana did not speak as she continued on her way out. Freya followed out of a sense of duty than necessity. Once the trash had been disposed of, their previous subject faded, the mage spoke up. “Do you need help with anything else?”

The woman hesitated. “I do need to get supplies from the market, but Talon usually accompanies me.”

Triana already knew, of course. Cassiopeia had explained a bit about Noxus. Apparently, the gigantic market of the Middle Ring was a common ground for thieves to strike for profit. Easy to get lost in the crowd, difficult for the stationed guards to follow. Noble houses’ servants and maids were their priority targets.

“No worries. I can protect you just as well, if not better.” Triana spoke with no small amount of confidence in her strength.

It filled her chest with a sense of pride when Freya smiled in agreement. On their way, she tried very hard not to picture accompanying her mother’s priestesses around Shurima for the Sun Temple’s incense and aromatics. Nobody dared to so much as _think_ about harming them in her presence.

The market was as described. Vast as one’s eye could reach, brimming with merchants and stalls and hundreds of people from all classes and corners of the kingdom. The air smelled like spices and perfumes. Hazel eyes carefully scanned the crowd for any signs of danger.

Freya went about her shopping, Triana a silent guard at her side.

An hour later, they were almost done. The Shuriman carried all the bags despite the maid’s protests and small talk was made in-between the final purchases. For the first time that day… Triana felt free. Like a weight had been taken off her shoulders. Like the sun was shining a bit brighter, its warmth finally reaching her.

Shopping was such a mundane, normal task…

And yet.

She was oddly content standing there as Freya’s protector, in Talon’s place. Guarding something that was precious to Cassiopeia, who was important to her. She could get used to that.

But then.

A black figure pushed through the crowd and dashed straight for Freya. Triana’s hand dropped a bag to grab at the woman’s arm, pulling her flush to her side. The attacker clearly didn’t expect her to notice him –and he zoomed past her as soon as it was her body he was met with, rather than the maid’s.

Triana could have just let him go. From the glimpse she stole at his face he was but a teen, clearly inexperienced. In that moment, however, another memory kicked in—

_A flaming temple._

_An assailant clad in absolute black, his face covered, his eyes cold and determined, leaping out of the flames. A vial of acid being crushed against the right side of her face, as her mother’s cry of her name echoed in her ears. Then fire, inside, outside, incinerating_ everything _._

_The flash of a curved blade._

_Blood._

Triana had teleported to the thief’s location in the blink of an eye. Grabbed at the arm he’d attempted to push Freya with... and without so much as batting an eyelash, she broke his wrist with a sickening _twist_.

A sudden, hoarse cry ripped out of his throat.

The blonde silenced it with a stike to his vocal chords, then smashed his head onto the ground. A dark part of her claimed it wasn’t enough. A part of her moulded from suffering, sworn to inflict it on anyone that attempted to harm the things she cared for.

Triana raised a fist pulsing with dark, arcane energy.

But warm hands closed around her wrist, tugging her away. _Begging_ her away. “Triana, please.” Freya’s voice took a while to register in her ears. “Honey, that’s enough. Stop.”

Cruel hazel stared down at the terrified man hiding his face in his arms, curled into a ball. Guards rushed towards their location.

Triana let herself be drawn back. The energy in her hand dissipated into the air. Freya checked her over, large brown eyes flitting about her form for any signs of injury, but the question there remained. One the Shuriman was certain the other woman did not truly want answered.

 _Yes_ , the reply would have been. _If you hadn’t been there, I would have killed him._

_I wouldn’t have stopped._

_I_ wouldn’t _have stopped._

_Like I didn’t stop then…_

_…_

_For the first time in ages, utter silence reigned supreme in the palace._

_The nobles were shaking in fright. The soldiers had retreated as far into their armoured suits as they possibly could. The Emperor was standing before his throne –and he was radiating glacial, thunderous_ fury _._

 _Before him, the black-clad man who had come to confess his crime was chained, on his knees. Unmoving. Asenath stood above him, two cold, hazel eyes trained on his form, one shadowed behind the golden mask hiding her deformity. The individual in front of her was a killer, alright, but he was_ not _her mother’s murderer._

_So why, she wondered, was he confessing a crime he didn’t commit?_

_“Piece of_ filth _.” Azir said in a low hiss. “You will meet an end deserving of what you are—”_

 _“He’s not the one.” Asenath spoke up, cutting the Emperor off, a notion nearly unheard of, though she did not much care. “That_ is _the knife, but_ he _is not the one. I was there. I remember.” Her good hand curled into a shaking fist. “I remember the killer’s eyes, the way he held the blade, how he moved, how he_ breathed _!” she snapped._

 _He was lying. He was lying for a_ cause _._

_“My Emperor.” Empress-consort Verenir spoke, next, her hand reaching for Azir’s bicep. “If I may be so bold. Trauma can severely alter one’s perception. Who would confess to a crime they didn’t commit? Who has more motive to take the High Priestess’ life, than the man who blames her wife’s death on her visions?”_

_Asenath’s head snapped to her, like a predator growling, muscles tensed for the pounce. “_ Silence _yourself.” she ordered and Verenir’s face lost some of its color._

_“Asenath!” Azir warned._

_“Don’t listen to her, father. It’s not him.” she pleaded._

_“…You couldn’t have seen him after what was done to you.” he replied._

_The wrong man was sentenced to death that day. A horrible death, that gave Azir the peace of mind he desperately needed after Sazriel’s assassination. A death that left Asenath more bitter and spiteful than ever before. Because the empire seemed to move on, after it. Because everybody thought justice had been dealt._

_And it hadn’t._

_And that_ burned _._

 _But there was no way to get information out of the dead. Or so she’d thought. When magic first flared inside her, she began to consider all the uses it could have. Studying her new powers under Xerath’s guidance, she began to wonder. Then, to_ seek _._

_Necromancy was a forbidden art. All the tomes containing knowledge of it were locked in the palace’s deepest vaults. But Asenath was the Emperor’s firstborn –and no door in the palace was locked to her for long. Xerath helped her complete rituals upon taboo rituals. Eventually, she communed with higher powers… and claimed the abilities she desired for herself._

_So, she called him back. The man who had claimed he murdered her mother. She asked him why he’d sacrificed himself for the lie and that time, he was_ forced _to answer._

_“My family is poor –I was promised a great deal of gold by the real assassin to lie that I did it. I gladly embraced death if it meant my wife and children will live like nobility.” he’d said._

_“Tell me_ who _.” Asenath demanded._

_“The firstborn son of the Lord of Assaxia.”_

_The united regions of Assaxia were close allies with the Shuriman Empire. Empress-consort Verenir hailed from there. Once again, Asenath was left with more questions than answers as to why they would want the High Priestess dead. But one thing was for certain._

_Allied or not…_

_Protected by peace treaties or not…_

_She would make Assaxia drown in_ blood _._

_…_

“…What?” Triana asked, her naked body comfortably tucked underneath Cassiopeia’s heavy duvets.

The noblewoman propped her chin against her palm, a gesture that made her look like a gorgeous, curious cat. She took a moment debating her next words. The blonde was certain they would be out of her comfort zone just from the time taken to collect them alone.

“Something’s troubling you lately. More so than usual.” It wasn’t a question. Merely an observation. “I can ignore it if that is what you wish, but it’s gotten harder to bypass.”

Triana looked down at the covers between them. Then, up to stunning lime gems. “Is… that your way of telling me I suck in bed as of late.” she joked as a last line of defence.

A wry smirk crossed Cassiopeia’s unpainted lips. Her eyes rolled. “No, that is my way of saying I… want to know what’s on your mind.” Triana’s brow furrowed. “Because it’s hurting you.”

“Ah.” she licked her lips. “Still no fooling you, huh?”

“The person who can fool me has not yet been born into this world.” Cassiopeia replied. And Triana couldn’t argue with that. The champion was a breathing lie-detector. It was a lucky thing her own pretence was based so closely on the truth it did not trigger many alarms. Those it did, Cassiopeia turned off for her sake.

“I believe that.” she nodded. “But my past isn’t a subject anywhere near my comfort zone.”

“And sharing a bed with someone I know very little about is nowhere near mine.” the noblewoman stated. She was making a huge effort not to prod and dig and try to figure out her secrets, which Triana endlessly appreciated. “I am willing to make this a two-way road, if it’s easier for you. Share something important for you and you get the same from me.”

Hazel eyes gleamed. “I like chocolate as a bar but I hate it in ice-creams.”

Cassiopeia tried to look exasperated but ended up chuckling halfway through. “I’m allergic to peanuts. Or, well— I was.”

“Despite Shurima’s fashion trends, I never liked beige. Or any mixed, muddled colors, for that matter. It’s gotta be white or brown or yellow, not a half-assed blend of all three.” Triana continued.

“I appreciate black on very specific pieces of clothing for myself, but I like seeing it on others. _Especially_ those with the angles to pull it off.” was the retort.

Triana’s head was filled with stupid little facts to share, but she froze at the beginning of her next sentence. “I…” Words drained from her mind, until only a painful truth remained. “I had to suffer through a major burn injury to see exactly how _few_ people were truly loyal to me.” Beauty attracted lies. Its absence revealed so many things to her about other people.

Yet among those that remained by her side, fewer still did so unconditionally.

Her girlfriend left her not when her face was marred, but when Azir disowned her. When it was clear she would not rule an empire –and instead went to the one who would. Her half-brother.

“After my transformation, I felt… alone. So angry and so alone. I found support in the most unlikely of places.” Cassiopeia admitted.

“What place?” Triana asked.

“How major was your burn?” was asked back.

“Major enough that I wasn’t considered nearly as appealing anymore.” she replied, not wanting to lie. Cassiopeia’s forehead creased with a frown. The blonde could see her thinking, analysing. Everything she knew about magic, versus the information laid bare to her. Triana hoped she didn’t know exactly what spells could and could not fix.

“Elise helped me control my strength and newfound abilities.” the champion shared. “It was a chance meeting at the woods, at first, though we had already met at noble gatherings a few times, before. She remained and persisted by my side. She’ll claim it was for her own gain, of course, but we both know that’s a lie.” Cassiopeia’s lip turned into the slightest smirk at the surprise evident on Triana’s face. “Trust me, she is a far bigger and simultaneously far lesser bitch than she pretends to be.”

The elated spirits whenever Elise was their jungler made much more sense, then. The non-verbal communication between them, the subtle greeting nods when their paths crossed in the Institute.

“Correct me if I’m mistaken…” Cassiopeia began in a way that hinted she knew she wasn’t. “…but can magic truly heal third-degree burns without leaving so much as a scar?”

Lime eyes pierced through hazel.

Triana bit the inside of her cheek. Debated her next words heavily. _Healing magic can’t. But necromancy… fleshcrafting…_ “Depends on the type. Let’s just say I got lucky –and leave it at that.”

Cassiopeia acquiesced. “I _must_ leave it at that if I don’t want you running from my bed like you’re being chased.”

Triana gave a soft little laugh. “I wouldn’t.”

“No, you’d just give a lame excuse to go, instead.” Garnets rolled.

“I feel _so_ called out right now.” The blonde pressed a hand to her heart.

“You should.” The noble angled her head away, which only prompted Triana to follow, closer, guiding her gaze back with a finger curled underneath her chin.

“Cass…” she whispered against a bare, porcelain shoulder. The blonde’s lips grazed its delicate lines up to the woman’s neck. It would eternally be her favorite spot to tuck into, always responsive for her, always smelling so _good_. “I really, really like you.” she spoke. It was less than what she felt and more than what she wanted to say, but freeing, regardless.

Cassiopeia’s hand carefully came around her neck. “Don’t be cute to get out of this one…” But. ‘ _Please don’t be lying’_ , her tone betrayed.

“I’m not. It’s _because_ I like you this much that I don’t want to talk about certain things.” Triana confessed.

“…I get that.” The noble whispered back.

Of course, she did. They were both the kind of people who had to hide. Behind pretty lies and pretty masks. Because past those, their actions spoke of an entirely different image. One that was cold, sharp, yet frayed at the edges. _Trust me_ , Triana wanted to say. _The less you know about the real me, the more beautiful I will seem._

But she did wonder if her mother was right that she could let go of her hatred. If her feelings and care for her new friends and lover could overcome the darkness she carried for so long.

Triana did wonder if, without the past holding such an iron sway over her… Cassiopeia and she could have a future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And after a LONG while, I am back. Work made writing this chapter hell for me, but hopefully it doesn't disappoint. 
> 
> I wanted Triana to be torn in this chapter (and the next), constantly weighing the past versus the present, for the future she will choose to follow. On one hand, she has her bright career as a summoner, a hot girlfriend who took ages to thaw her ice for her, a family who will protect her and remain loyal to her. On the other, she has her past friends, those whose names are etched on her back, who sacrificed their lives for her vision. She has all the pain she went through strapped onto her person, as well, and still burns with the need to destroy Azir for all that he took from her. She spend so long living with that hate that she *can't* simply move on. 
> 
> Or can she? We'll see in the next chapter ;) 
> 
> Until then, stay healthy, stay awesome!


	26. Chapter 26

**[Cassiopeia]**

She’d almost forgotten how damningly noisy it was. _Almost_.

Compared to the peace and quiet of her home, the Institute and its million sounds and scents were there to greet her superhuman senses like a vigorous slap to the face.

Cassiopeia grit her fangs behind ruby lips and held her chin high as she crossed the impossibly crowded yard –new faces meant new summoners and that was _rarely_ good— to the Noxian champion dorm. Katarina was death-glaring people to oblivion behind her, while Talon was death-glaring at them for, once again, being blackmailed into carrying all the baggages. 

The inside of her suite was a familiar comfort. Still safer than her bedroom, back in her mansion, though the thought of that space no longer brought her cold waves of anxiety. The memories of her crying and clawing at walls and sheets and furniture in utter despair were subdued, smoothedd ß33 by pretty lips and smiling hazel eyes. A ghost she could still feel haunting her, but from a greater distance. One she could look past.

It wasn’t a notion she’d ever dared to consider.

But her Christmas was... good. Being home was good.

And as many mixed feelings as she had about it, returning to the League was also good. The hectic lifestyle would allow little room to overthink the mistake of getting too close to a certain Shuriman. Keep her mind off missing her. Some distance would set things back in order. Hopefully.

Cassiopeia unpacked and carefully arranged her clothes in her wardrobe. She went about her nightly ritual of getting ready for bed and tried to ignore the sensation of it being empty. Sleep did not come easy, but eventually lime eyes drooped shut, consiousness fading to the world of dreams.

It had been a while since she dreamt of _that_ place.

Humid. Dark. Suffocating. _Not again._

_Sivir was there, walking beside her, ambitious one moment, pleading to turn back the next. Dead mercenaries were all around them, pierced in spike-traps like morbid decorations. Blood filled the lines between the tiles on the ground. Cassiopeia knew what was coming, but she was powerless to stop it._

_A sword hilt in her hand, a blade through a lover’s chest. Then a giant snake statue punishing her betrayal tenfold, by taking away everything she’d once thought defined her; her beauty._

_Helpless, writhing on the ground as she changed, she could feel nothing but the fire incinerating her whole, hear little beside her own screams. But she could see..._

_A black figure looming over her._

_A shade leaning down, that she’d mistaken for death in its serenity. She wanted to call out to it, plead with it to end her suffering, but her voice failed her. The chamber blurred, cracked, faded away. A cool touch was pressed to her forehead, two fingers lingering there for barely a second. Whatever they did, though... the hellfire started to diminish._

_“Mah seh’thir. Khalad.”_

Cassiopeia snapped awake, tail immediately pushing up and into a sitting position. Her hand was pressed to her chest as if to keep her heart from leaping out of it, or to assure herself it was still beating.

Again, that strange figure...

The one she’d always dismissed as a creation of her imagination. And yet, that night, everything had been too clear to simply shrug off as a distortion. That night, Cassiopeia tried, to no avail, to recall the words it had spoken to her. To recall its touch, its voice, anything about it at all.

Because that was the point she started to consider...

_...What if Xerath and Renekton weren’t the only ones locked inside that tomb...?_

_..._

Early in the morning, quite possibly _too_ early, Cassiopeia gave up on trying to fall back to sleep and instead checked her scedule for the day. Her summoners ranged from _Bronze_... _to Bronze, Bronze, Silver... okay, looking at this thing was a mistake._

The noblewoman let out a deep sigh. Stretched. Stood and went through the motions of getting ready. She wondered what her pretty blonde was doing, if she was still asleep or up and thinking about her, as well. It took her a moment to realize she had completely forgotten what she meant to do, overcome by thoughts of Triana.

Cassiopeia shook herself out of the emotional loop and back to reality. It was a lucky thing she had long ago mastered the art of schooling her heart to submission. The Du Couteau diverted her thoughts strictly to business, watching her eyes in the mirror harden in response. _Much better._

Outside, in the vast, quiet corridor, Cassiopeia caught a familiar sight. Tight, black designer clothes, crimson hair elegantly styled in a wet look. Legs that went on for miles. Elise, sensing her gaze, came to a smooth, pivoting stop.

“Another early riser, I see.” she commented, comfortable in the shadows around them to the point it seemed like they were merely extensions of her presence.

“I didn’t expect you back so soon.” Cassiopeia commented, keeping the smile off her lips and allowing only the faintest of quirks.

“I live to exceed expectations.” Elise dramatically raised her chin. “And _someone_ seems to have had a merry Christmas, indeed.” Of course, nothing escaped her.

“It was acceptable.” the Du Couteau smirked.

“Seems a tad more than so.” the older noble replied but didn’t press further. They fell into step together, at ease in the dark. In a way, it was their natural habitat. Their shield, their home. One of the many things they had in common.

Small talk was made as the pair navigated the less crowded pathways to the cafeteria, the subjects ranging from the Black Rose’s latest experiments, to other nobles’ moves in the unending political game of Noxus. To any onlooker, the casual, vague way they discussed would appear as two acquaintances merely catching up after a long time spent apart. In reality, however, a ton of information was exchanged in the subtlest way possible… and just as much withheld.

“But, really. How _was_ your leave?” Cassiopeia asked, after they’d shared all the juicy bits they were willing to.

Elise let out a faint sigh. “ _Boring_.” was huffed. “Vladimir and LeBlanc were busy with the Rose’s new prodigy and they wouldn’t even let me _near_.”

“I wonder why…” the younger noble smirked, tone dripping with sarcasm. Elise was known to affect people in powerful ways, whether that ended with them obsessed, worshipping the ground she walked on… or plain dead. 

“Something about being an unnecessary distraction. Can you believe it?”

“Absolutely not.” The two women shared a secretive smirk.

“Speaking of distractions…”

“Don’t even—”

“How’s Triana doing these days?” Elise offered her most charming look. “You haven’t introduced us yet.”

“And I’m not planning to.” Cassiopeia said with a cutting motion of her hand. Her answer to the other woman’s unasked _‘why?’_ was a flat: “Unnecessary distraction.”

Elise brushed the comment off with a throaty chuckle…

Yet thinking of Triana, of her latest conversation with her, Cassiopeia came to a hesitant halt. The raw, tormented look in those hazel eyes as she talked about her past burn injury came back, with all the crushing force of a thousand-meters-tall waterfall. Then there was that steely defensiveness to her voice and body language when the Du Couteau inquired about the magic used to heal her…

She was certain whatever secret Triana was keeping from her had to do with that. Part of her considered letting it drop, letting it go one more time, because that was, clearly, what the Shuriman wished. Cassiopeia wanted to respect her wishes, but it was deep in her nature to seek to uncover secrets, sometimes obsessively. An urge swelling from within, pushing her to find out _more_.

“Elise…” she said, slow and quiet. The Spider Queen turned to regard her warily. “There is something I wish to ask you… but it may be personal.” _Too personal._ The reclusive woman’s boundaries had been made clear long ago, as glaring as a wall of large, protruding thorns.

Red eyes checked around, to make sure they were alone. “Ask away.”

In Cassiopeia’s understanding, though she was in no way an expert, the deeper a wound was, the less likely it became for magic to heal it without leaving a scar. Which would mean that for second-degree burns, let alone third-degree, Triana’s face would have been a patchwork of marks. Perhaps, if she was really lucky, they’d be faint to most people’s eyes. And yet, even to her superhuman sight, her skin was flawless. There was not a single blemish on it.

“Can burns on one’s face heal… to the point my eyes wouldn’t be able to tell they ever existed?” she asked.

The sound of her heart beating against her ears was the only sound between them for a moment. Elise’s gaze shifted. There was darkness in it, something deep and old and jaded. There was equal parts torment and pride. Cassiopeia half regretted prodding at the source of her pain for answers.

“No.” the Spider Queen’s answer was as cold as it was adamant. “Not through any normal magic.”

“And by ‘normal’ you mean…”

“Any form that is considered acceptable by society.” The elder noble spoke exactly what she feared to hear. “In fact, the only way to restore dead tissue is to either resurrect it through a complete transformation of the individual…” there was a sharper edge to her tone there. They both knew Elise belonged to the first category. “Or to fleshcraft it.”

Lime eyes widened. “I’ve never heard that word—” she went to say, but the other woman elaborated faster;

“Necromancy.”

Cassiopeia’s throat suddenly felt too tight. Whatever questions she meant to ask, she lost the ability to voice right away.

“And not just simple necromagic, either.” Elise continued. “It’s considered one of its vilest forms. Think of it as being able to make anything out of anyone. Mix and match parts until the desired result. To give a necromancer permission to alter one’s body in such a way, the individual must be truly desperate –and truly an idiot.” A pause. “Unless, I suppose…”

Cassiopeia hang onto her every next word.

“…one was a necromancer themselves?”

**[Triana]**

She wasn’t exactly avoiding neither Cassiopeia nor Xerath.

She just wasn’t actively seeking to meet them, either.

Triana needed time alone with herself, to carefully weigh her options. Her inner scale tilted constantly, both in favor of the past and the present. A side of her yearned to rip off her disguise and claim the power she sought for years. To reshape Shurima to her liking, until she had a place in it once more, seated on throne at its pinnacle. Another pleaded to let go of the poison she nurtured for centuries, allow it to bleed out of her system and leave her clean.

The memory of her past friends and the cruel end they met for her goals made her blood burn with the need for vengeance. The thought of Katarina and Talon and Ashe extinguished the flames. No matter what she chose, she would be betraying one side irreparably.

A distant screech broke Triana out of her musings.

She hadn’t realized how close to the restricted area of the League she’d been walking. Far off to her left, several men bearing the signature Institute staff-uniform rushed out of the barrier cutting the forbidden grounds off. To say they looked positively scared _shitless_ would be an understatement.

Triana kept a smirk to herself.

“Hey. That sounds really rough to have to deal with on a daily basis.” she began in way of greeting, channelling her inner diplomat.

“Y-yeah, I didn’t know what I was signing up for…” one guy breathed.

“You shouldn’t stand so close to the barrier, summoner.” Another said, his fear much more controlled than the first’s.

“Thank you for looking out for my wellbeing, officer.” She cast a sweet smile that hit its mark dead-center. “But I was really curious to see some of my favorite non-human champions up close. Perhaps you could let me go in? I’ll make sure to feed Rek’Sai for you and not tell a single soul.”

The men shared a look. “Well… I’m okay with that if she says she can…”

“That’s against the rules.” the stricter guy said, though Triana could see past the front. He was tempted by the idea.

“I would consider it a personal favor and pay it in kind.” she spoke. “Of course, this secret stays with us.” A coy finger was brought to her lips, followed by a charming wink.

The man coughed to conceal his blush. He reached to his bicep and unclasped the special band allowing entrance past the barrier. Triana caught it before he could reconsider his decision.

“Thank you. I’ll be sure to see you around.” she said, smoothly walking back… and into the restricted section of the League.

The first thing she noticed was the sudden shift in the quality of air. Thicker. Brimming with magic. The rest of the Institute appeared as a distant blur, the same as these grounds from the outside. As for her surroundings… Triana pivoted to take a good look around.

She was in a scarce forest, though she could not see far. Most areas were covered by mist, with rune-like symbols hovering high in the air. She guessed they were signs, so the staff could navigate the section and find the champions they needed easier. 

Another screech, near deafening past the barrier.

Triana smiled and made her way to Rek’Sai’s rocky domain. There was a large opening past another cloud of mist… and a hulking mass of jagged edges awaiting at its end.

“You should have seen their faces.” Triana commented, amused.

The queen adjacent to her prowled closer, the spikes on her spine rising as she bent her body forward. A giant maw came level with Triana’s head.

“Rub our height difference in further, why don’t you.” she joked. Paused. “Ah. I see how it is.” The smirk turned into a sigh. “You’re mad at me.”

Rek’Sai made no sound.

“Is it because I left for a few days, or because of who I left with?” Triana raised an eyebrow. “Come now, you know you’re eternally the number one lady in my heart.”

A defying snort, almost as if to say: ‘flattery will get you nowhere’.

“…Nyel’Sai.” the mage tried with a softer tone. She’d have liked to hide the vulnerability in it, but the void burrower must have heard it from the way she immediately bent her head closer. “I know you’ve waited. I know exactly how long you’ve waited for.”

An almost pained growl reverberated from the great beast’s chest.

“And I never said it… that I’m sorry. For everything I promised you that I couldn’t fulfil.” That she would rule all of Shurima, while her counterpart all of the desert. Queens in equal right, one never stepping over the other. “For leaving you alone.”

Rek’Sai lowered her body to the earth, sending dust flying around them. Her chin dropped to Triana’s hand for only a moment. Pride would not allow for longer.

“Wherever I go this time, you are coming with me.”

An agreeing growl echoed across the earth.

…

The grey clouds had long since cleared from the sky, leaving the sun’s glory unobscured, a majestic golden glow that hued the Institute grounds at midday. It didn’t help that it made the earth look like sand. It didn’t help that it reminded Triana so much of Shurima.

En route to the arenas, she slowed her steps to simply take in the sights around her. She hadn’t given it any thought before, but the League was truly a marvel. Everything was structured to shine in its own way, right down to the smallest of flowers.

But despite all the sparkling things in her peripheral, Triana’s hazel eyes focused on one.

Black-and-Jade scales caught the sun’s rays and reflected them like glass. Curly hair was lit almost like a crown at the top of a head held high. As soon as the mage noticed Cassiopeia approaching from the other end of the cobblestone pathway, she could see little else.

The noble’s pace did not slow nor hasten, but something changed about the glacial aura she kept up in public.

“Hey, stranger.” A slow smile was fired straight through Triana’s heart.

If she could recall what other words existed besides ‘ _oh gods, her eyes’_ , she would have come up with something clever to say back. Cassiopeia’s gem-like orbs passed over her in a lightning-quick scan, then glanced around, no doubt checking for stray eyes or lenses. Her pale shoulders stood a tad less tense when neither of those seemed to be anywhere close.

Triana moved a tad nearer, taking her hand with a sheepish smile. “Hello, beautiful.” ‘Beautiful’ didn’t cover the half of it.

“Careful, darling, we’re in public.” Cassiopeia warned in a hushed tone.

“Yes, I know, I know…” Triana said, but she was already leaning forward. “Have I told you your eyes are very, _very_ green?” _And that she always smelled amazing and…_

Cassiopeia tried to keep a poker face on, “Are they, now…” but her painted lips broke into a half-amused, half-wry smile regardless. “ _Triana_.” she chastised when their lips were close enough to touch.

“It’s not pda if there’s no one around…” she argued.

The noblewoman gave her a look. Then she huffed and leaned in, sealing their mouths together in the hottest, smoothest way possible. They’d locked lips a hundred times, yet every kiss felt new, different, special. Cassiopeia licked into her mouth in her entirely classy, sensual manner, but pulled back before they could get too carried away.

“I’ll see you at the New Year’s ceremony, okay?” Cassiopeia’s claw ran along her chin.

Triana gave a begrudging nod.

As soon as a healthy distance had formed between them, she took a deep breath. That was precisely why she didn’t want to be near the magnetic woman before reaching her final decision.

Because next to her, it was far too easy to choose.

…

It was fitting, that things came full circle with Talon.

He had been the first champion Triana felt comfortable and well-synced with, when she made her first steps into the ranked system of the League. In the end, he was the one she got into her Challenger promos with. The Shuriman told herself that she didn’t care that much, that she was not too excited.

But it was something she earned, to be a hair’s breadth from the top rank, that of the best, the elite, the legends. It was a great achievement. It was something she didn’t think she’d end up wanting… but did want.

According to her fellow summoners, the leap from Grandmaster to Challenger was massive. Bigger than any other rank and for most, almost impossible to bridge. Triana had confidence that she could make the jump with Cassiopeia. Perhaps unwisely, she began to picture what it would be like to stand beside her in the next seasonal ceremony, having her lover put on her Challenger pin in front of the whole world.

It was strange…

She had never made any future dreams as anything other than an Empress, before. _Two thousand years dreaming in the dark. And none of those desires looked like this._

It was impossible to deny, after that; the League had changed her. Getting close to Cassiopeia and the rest of the Du Couteaus changed her. Whether that was a good or a bad thing, nobody could tell. Not even she.

 _And is it such a sin, to be excited for what the League has to offer…?_ she wondered.

Even walking through the busy paths to the New Year’s ceremony, knowing she’d be beside Cassiopeia during its course even though she wouldn’t be as near as she’d like, had her heart beating faster in her chest. When she wasn’t trying to hold everything back, to diminish her own excitement, she could admit that it felt good.

It felt like the world was a tad more beautiful.

More forgiving.

Just… Good.

Triana pulled her hood up as she dashed past a room full of paparazzi, rounding the next corner into a far less crowded corridor, the last one before the decorated grand hall that was her destination. And then—

She froze.

The people around her ceased to exist in her eyes. The eager noise surrounding her became muted to her ears. There was just the sound of _his_ steps approaching.

There was just her… and Azir.

They had never crossed paths until that point. They had never breathed the same air. Triana avoided his presence like the plague, because she was certain it was the _one_ thing that could blow her cover. That could make her act irrationally, wildly, out of control.

And to see him right then and there…

It was as if every half-closed wound she nursed suddenly burst wide _open_.

_She descended the steps of the palace like a woman that had wholly befriended the idea of death. The sun was down, leaving only darkness in its wake –and that seemed fitting._

_Below the hundreds of stairs awaited ten familiar figures. They bowed when Asenath approached, though she had long since dismissed them from her service._

_“What are you doing here?” she asked._

_“We know what you are about to do from that look in your eye.” Senthir replied. “And you’re not doing it alone.”_

_“Where I’m going, there is no turning back. Death awaits upon my return and you all have a bright future ahead of you in the army. You will be the hope of all slaves in Shurima, that they can rise above their station, to even reach the Emperor’s personal guard.” she spoke evenly, coldly. “So. Get_ back _to the palace.”_

_“That may be true. However…” Abraxas spoke up. “You are the Empress we have sworn to serve. You are the one who saved us from servitude. Without you, there is no sun. I would rather die a thousand deaths than live in a world without light.”_

_Asenath had accepted, then, that they had lived as a unit and would die as a unit. “If you are to follow me, I won’t stop you. But there is one thing I want you to heed if you do:” she looked them all in the eye underneath her golden half-mask. “My order to not spill innocent blood? Forget it. Tonight, in my name, paint Assaxia_ red _.”_

_The land was built like a fortress, but no man-made wall could withstand a void burrower. Nyel’Sai tore down all obstacles blocking Asenath’s way. And her ghosts became the wraiths to carry out her will. Screams flooded the kingdom. Blood swelled until it reached its monarch’s door._

_Asenath walked into the throne room, crimson blade in hand, as Rek’Sai ducked in behind her._

_Finally. She recognized the man taking up arms against her. From his posture, to the way he held his swords._

_“You fiend!” he cursed. “Why did_ they _have to die?!”_

_“Why did my mother?” she asked._

_“How…. how do you know it was me?” Shaking his head, he changed course. “And even if you did, why not come straight for me?!”_

_“It’s not enough for me anymore, to have just you suffer.” Asenath said, Rek’Sai leaning above her shoulder, jaws dripping red. “I’ve had time to think on what you took from me.” Her mother. Her beauty. Her ability to fight without magic. “And what your punishment shall be for it.”_

_Rek’Sai kept him pinned to the wall, while Asenath took his family as he’d taken hers. He screamed and cursed and even pleaded that he would tell her everything if she spared them… but his corpse would tell her everything regardless._

_When her blade found his heart, she commanded his soul into telling her what she needed to know._

_“Tell me. Who hired you to murder my mother?”_

_“It was a favor I owed my step-sister. ...Empress-consort Verenir.”_

_Asenath did not make a sound._

_But Rek’Sai screamed_ for _her._

_The eleven ghosts returned to the palace, leaving red imprints in their wake. Past the snobbish nobles staring in cold fright, to the Emperor rising from his throne in utter shock._

_Asenath cast the severed head of her mother’s killer at his feet. She did it in a way that said: ‘this is what I expected from you, but you failed me. You_ failed _me’._

 _Then her good eye landed on the pompous, traitorous_ bitch _seated on the smaller throne, beside his._

_“One more remains until justice is served, father.” she said._

_A shadow step later, she was face to face with Verenir’s terrified, wide eyes. Asenath’s blade slashed at her throat—_

_But Azir pushed her back with all his might before she could cut deep. Guards were onto her and onto her assassins the very next second._

_“Ask her! Ask her why she would have the Lord of Assaxia –her step_ brother! _— murder my mother and mutilate the future Empress!” she roared into the chamber. “_ Ask _her –and let me murder the_ whore _when she lies to your face!”_

_Azir’s hazel eyes were frozen wide, unblinking. He slowly turned to his Empress-consort, awaiting her response. The fact he even did so was another disappointment for Asenath, but she believed he would do the right thing. Until the very end, she believed in him._

_And he_ betrayed _her._

_Verenir leaned in. Whispered something in his ear._

_When Azir turned back around, it was not to punish the traitor for what she’d done. Instead, he called Asenath’s assassins ungrateful betrayers. Made them an example of why slaves should never be given their freedom and sentenced them to horrible deaths._

_And instead of letting her die with them, he did not have the stomach or the courage to extend to her the same punishment. He made a cheap excuse about her royal blood being spilled only by the gods and cast her into exile. Disowned her. Erased every record containing her name and piled all her deeds onto Renekton’s._

_Asenath was left into the desert with nothing but the rage eating away at her insides._

_But before she was taken out of the palace, she made a promise to Azir and Verenir she intended to keep._

_“I will kill you all. Everyone inside this palace who has heard the truth and ignored it, everyone who calls themselves royalty and is worse than_ trash _. And for you, at the pinnacle of this_ rot _–you will die screaming.”_

She had kept her word. At the day of Seakir’s coronation and Azir’s ascension to Godhood, Asenath had been there, her ten shadows around her, to turn day to night. With Xerath’s assistance, whom she had secretly been communicating with from afar, she cast Azir into the flames of the sun.

She had never accounted for one of Seakir’s bastards getting away in all the chaos. That his blood would survive down the centuries, leading to Sivir and then to Azir’s rebirth.

It was all like a slap to the face by fate.

The Emperor of the Sands walked closer. Closer.

Closer still…

Until he passed her by.

Triana forced her body to move forward, though there was a different light in her eyes as she did. Gone was her bright, airy eagerness to get into the ceremony. A thousand years’ worth of pain was etched into her hazel orbs.

When she opened her fingers, gone white in her fists, bloody crescents remained on her palms. It was then that she came to a harrowing conclusion. Moving on was impossible for someone as damaged by the past as she was. Anything beautiful in her life, not only did not deserve it, but she would sooner or later infect it with the darkness put inside her long ago. The League, the Du Couteaus, her lover… all a band aid to a gash that could never close.

A quarter of her heart belonged to them. The other three were too deeply seeped in hatred to follow.

In the end, as much as she loved Cassiopeia…

She hated Azir more.

…

Triana walked into the ceremony the same way she’d once walked down the steps of a grand palace, prepared to turn into a monster.

She was surprised when she saw Xerath talking to Cassiopeia at a far corner. She was even more surprised as she approached, hearing him speak of a location that should be known only to her. That was when Triana looked down at the rune-engraved stone in her pocket, seeing it, for the first time, for what it truly was. Not just a means of communication, but also a means of eavesdropping on her.

She wished she could say betrayal shocked her, yet it no longer did.

After what her father had done, Xerath’s paled in comparison. It didn’t even sting, really.

Expressionless, Triana took another step forward, just in time to hear, loud and clear, the Magus ask Cassiopeia:

“So. Do you want your legs back?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ten thousand years later, an update! I'm so very sorry for the long absence, but it was a much needed breath of air. Between how crazy my work has gotten and an insane writer's block I had for weeks, writing was more stressful than it was calming. That being said, I hope you enjoyed this chapter!
> 
> All of Triana's backstory has been revealed with this final flashback. Just when our girl was looking at the world in a different light, the sight of Azir sent her down a very deep, very dark, downwards spiral. It all came crashing down around her again and she realized that she'll never really move on -she's a ticking time bomb waiting to explode and the people she loves do not deserve to be caught in the blast radius. 
> 
> I'd love to read what you think and as always, stay healthy, stay awesome, stay cool ;)


	27. Chapter 27

**[Cassiopeia]**

Seven words.

That was all it took to bring her world upside down, inside out. Seven words were enough to render her completely paralyzed. Xerath only spoke them once, but they played on repeat in her ears, the moment dragging on to a cruel infinity.

_“So. Do you want your legs back?”_

Cassiopeia lost her voice, though there was nothing she could think to say anyway. Did she want her legs back? It was all she’d wanted for the past three and a half years of her life. Every day she’d wake up praying for the nightmare to end, for some light to show at the end of the pitch-black tunnel, but the poison in her system was always there to remind her there would be no such thing. She’d literally driven herself _insane_ with the longing to be normal again.

And now – _now_ after _everything_ she went through!— to be asked that question so casually, as if it was possible all along…

Cassiopeia felt a familiar burn behind her eyes. It took all her willpower to keep the power locked there, contained, though barely. “ _What_ are you saying?” her voice was alien to her own ears. Raw and jagged like a serrated knife.

“I’m proposing a deal. You get something you want out of it –and so do I. Both parties win.” Xerath’s visage was a never-changing mask of stone accented by glowing energy underneath. She could not tell if he was lying.

Cassiopeia fought to keep her wits about her, even as her mind was pulling ten different directions. “You must think me a fool to believe you now. I came to you years ago with the same proposition only to have you turn away with a sneer behind that visor.” Oh, but how her claws ached to tear at him… “You told me what everyone else did. That I went looking for this punishment and it _cannot_ be undone.” The words should hurt less to speak after having accepted them, but she found they still stung.

Far deeper than she’d like to admit.

“I remember. And back then it was the truth.” Xerath nodded. “But now the circumstances have changed; and I assure you, it _is_ possible.”

“ _Nothing’s_ changed.” Glowing lime eyes narrowed dangerously.

“Surely, you must feel it too. Something big just under the surface, waiting to be uncovered. A secret still eluding you that you lacked the hints to search for. The power you sought in that Tomb was not what you found –but it was also not a lie.” the Magus promised.

“N-no, you—” _This cannot be true. He’s lying. He has to be._

“No reason to answer me right now. Instead, take this.” he spoke calmly, presenting Cassiopeia with a stone that broke out of his own ‘body’. Her fingers numbly reached up to grasp it. “Speak my name and cast it on the nearest flat surface. It will open a direct portal to speak to me wherever you may be. This is neither the time nor the place for more. Enjoy the festivities, Cassiopeia.”

That was when she snapped out of her trance, realizing they were very much in a room full of summoners and champions, waiting for the New Year’s ceremony to begin. Sounds she failed to filter in time rushed into her ears. In the time it took Cassiopeia to close her eyes to ground herself, Xerath had floated too far away.

A scent of honey and Shuriman oils she would have recognized anywhere approached from the side. Triana walked up to her, yet the noblewoman had no idea how to greet her.

“What did he want?” she cocked her chin at the Magus’ vague direction.

Cassiopeia was still an unmoving, unspeaking statue.

“Cass?” 

Clawed fingers reached up to find purchase on Triana’s black-clad bicep. She felt like the only steady thing around. “Just. Follow me out of here.” she said. Whether that sounded like a plea or a command she couldn’t tell.

Cassiopeia took the door outside, to the small back garden of the building, practically dragging her lover along. Each meter was a struggle not to fall apart. She kept telling herself she’d kept her composure through worse.

Finally out of others’ sight, her hand slid lifelessly down Triana’s arm. The blonde took a hesitant step closer… and Cassiopeia lowered her head to her shoulder, as two strong arms wrapped around her waist.

Inside, the ceremony had began. The host had taken his position on the stage and hyped up the gathered crowd for the High Summoner’s opening speech. “So, is everyone ready for their Happy New Season?” he asked excitedly.

The year was already starting out for Cassiopeia with a bang.

And no matter how she looked at it, it wasn’t a happy ending she saw coming down the line.

…

She had taken her time to consider Xerath’s words, in solitude. Cassiopeia hadn’t spoken a word to Katarina or anyone else, instead entirely avoiding them. In the end, seeking him out was inevitable.

The Magus’ name was whispered and the stone was cast. When the portal opened, she didn’t hesitate to step into the darkness. As her room disappeared from view, flashes of arcane energy zapped all around her. The ground and walls blended together in an infinite black.

Xerath’s phantom appeared before her like a thunderclap. “You came.”

“Tell me everything.” she demanded, eyes and voice cased in ice.

“First, allow me to tell you a story.” he said. “Long before even the start of history, primeval beings reigned over this world. Though, I suppose, I should call it more of a shapeless void than a world. The Celestials, a race you now call Gods, were determined to change that, to turn the void into a land they could rule over. So, they banded together –and began to slaughter the beasts. As their cut pieces fell, however, more godlike lifeforms sprouted, along with demonic shadows.” Xerath explained. “The Celestials realized they would soon be outnumbered. They instead decided it was wiser to seal these beings away.”

Cassiopeia remained silent, curious to where all of this would lead.

“They succeeded. For the most part. The Void was created from the final clash and so did the world as we know it. But not all went as planned. The Celestials lost too much of their power in the process –and only few of them remained. They had to flee before they were locked in this newly-formed mortal sphere, which is why several of their reality-shaping relics were left behind.”

Cassiopeia’s brain struggled to wrap around the truth laid bare before her, but she understood where the Magus was going. “The forbidden power that was described in those texts… and the relic you mentioned at the ceremony, hidden in catacombs…”

“Indeed.” Xerath confirmed. He almost seemed to be smirking, though that was impossible. Perhaps a trick of the light. “The power exists. In the form of a gold and obsidian sceptre, with a crimson jewel unlike any you’ve ever laid eyes on, at its top. Even idle, the power it emits can drive men insane with desire. Those who excavated it killed each other on the spot.” The description fit everything Cassiopeia had painstakingly translated. “Until recently, I did not know of its location.” She couldn’t help but wonder _how_ he acquired that information.

“I can’t imagine you’d share this with me now out of the goodness of your heart.” A wry curve to her lip was a defense mechanism to avoid falling apart.

“There would be no goodness left in my heart if I still had one to begin with.” Xerath retorted, one ghostly hand rising to his empty chest. “To retrieve this artefact, I need the blood of an Ascended to remove a protective seal. As you can see, I am made of raw energy. I cannot bleed. That leaves Azir, Renekton, Nasus… and you.”

Cassiopeia kept her body perfectly still so as to not give anything away. Inside, though, there was a storm raging. On one hand, she was certain Xerath was telling her only what he wanted her to know. On the other, it was also a move of desperation. Out of everyone who could unlock that seal for him, she was the only viable option.

But, surely… he wasn’t naïve enough to trust she’d hand the relic over after it was in her grasp.

There _had_ to be a catch.

“Your faith in me is astounding.” she commented with narrowed eyes and a healthy hint of sarcasm.

“Ah, but you cannot use the sceptre without me. The only ones that know how are Azir and I.” Again, it almost looked like Xerath was smiling. Of course, hearing this did not surprise Cassiopeia in the slightest. “To you, it may as well be another pretty collectable that, given enough time, can drive your family to madness.”

The noble’s claws flexed at her sides. She had endured –and to some part accepted— her curse as punishment for all her sins. Yet she could _not_ withstand bringing a similar damnation to Katarina and Talon and Freya.

When Xerath then spoke of its exact location, the coordinates scorched their way past her ears, to her mind. 

The portal to her chambers reopened behind her when there was nothing more left to say. Cassiopeia came to a halt just shy of stepping through.

“One last question before I go;” she spoke. Lime eyes flashed like a blade catching the light. “That day …were you and Renekton the only ones that came out of the Tomb of Emperors?”

The silence lasted only a second, though it felt much longer than that.

“Yes.” Xerath replied, stoic and calm as ever. “Everyone else had long turned into a pile of bones.”

That was the logical answer.

Why, then, did Cassiopeia feel he was lying…?

…

There came a point when her family had to know. It wasn’t a secret she could carry around any longer.

The noblewoman had called Katarina, Talon and Triana to her room and told them everything. Their reactions were more or less what she’d expected.

“We’re leaving right now.” Katarina announced.

“It’s a _trap_.” Talon emphasised.

“That goes without _saying_.” she bit back. “But if there’s even the slightest chance that what that asshat magus says is true…” The two siblings were left to stare the other down, as always.

Triana’s voice cut through the rising tension. “I think it’s Cassiopeia’s decision.” Garnet eyes snapped to hazel. “It’s your life. Your choice.” 

Her choice?

It wasn’t that simple.

Her choices had already burned her in the past. She knew too well of what was at stake if she repeated the same mistakes, of reaching for powers not meant for her. Not meant for _anyone_. She didn’t want to drag more people down with her. She didn’t want to bring her family into her mess. She didn’t want even the potential choice of hurting Triana in order to get what she wanted…

Like she’d done to Sivir.

Cassiopeia looked down at her hands. Claws and normal fingers alike, just like the rest of her; half monster, half human. Half of a whole, or so she used to think of herself as, until recently.

Memories rushed before her.

A billion tears she could still feel burning down her chin and neck. A million soundless screams at nothing in the dark silence of her locked room. A thousand slashes at everything, living and otherwise, around her with acidic claws. A hundred attempts to end her life in any way.

She wanted the pain to _end_ , in any way possible.

_She’d given the Black Rose what they needed; it was their turn to give her what she’d asked for._

_A blade that could pierce her skin._

_At the main hall of Elise’s intricate mansion, she awaited her salvation. Something to finally put an end to the suffering. From the depths of shadows, she heard the woman approach. When the Spider Queen stepped into the moonlight, the artifact in her hands glinted. A finely crafted knife, sharp as they could get, with a golden hilt still emitting the ruined energy of the Shadow Isles._

_Elise took a step forward and left the weapon in her hand. “Well, there you go. Feel free to use it; my servants have learned not to ask nor wonder, when cleaning blood off the floor.” Cassiopeia didn’t want to know if she was jesting or not._

_But did it matter? What she wanted was in her hold…_

_Elise turned around, as though to give her privacy. A few still beats passed, the room eerily silent._

_And then… the woman huffed. “Alright, here. I’ll make it easier for you.”_

_In a flash, she was into Cassiopeia’s face, crimson eyes gleaming with the thrill of a predator moments before the kill. Her cool hands had closed like iron bonds around hers, pushing the tip of the blade towards her neck— too_ close _—_

_Cassiopeia instinctively slapped her away with her tail. Elise somehow turned the shove into a sort-of butterfly kick, landing on her feet, soundless as a cat. The Du Couteau had her fangs bared, hissing at her…_

_But the elder noble only straightened and chuckled, dusting her clothes off. “What? I thought that was what you wanted.” was said so very simply. “Looks to me like it isn’t.”_

_“I—” Cassiopeia glanced down at the blade in her hands. It no longer seemed so appealing. Because, past the depression, deep down she knew, not wanting to live as a monster didn’t automatically mean she wanted to_ die _._

 _“Listen and listen well;” Elise spoke, a different weight to her voice. “I felt what you feel. I thought what you think. It was easier for me to slice my veins open but I_ didn’t _and neither will_ you _. We don’t roll over and die so easily.”_

_Cassiopeia stared at her flawless face. Then, back at the weapon. She pressed the tip of the blade into her palm to confirm her suspicions…_

_It couldn’t cut her. The blade ground against her skin without so much as a scratch._

That liar.

_“What is this?!” she demanded, waving the weapon between them._

_Elise had the audacity to_ laugh _. “Just some random knife I found at the Isles and brought back as a souvenir.” She shrugged. “It looks sharp and all, but it can barely cut through butter, let alone you.”_

_Cassiopeia got the very insistent urge to throw it at her face, but reminded herself she was a lady quickly enough to swallow the frustration down. “You didn’t even look for what I asked, did you…!”_

_“Not for one second.” Elise snatched the knife from her palm. “Instead of ways to die, look for ways to live. There’s always something –it’s all a matter of what you’re prepared to sacrifice for what you want.”_

And what was Cassiopeia prepared to give for her legs?

Once, the answer would have been a resolute ‘everything’.

That… was no longer the case.

The weight of what more she stood to lose crushed her. The circumstances had changed. _She_ changed. There were things she wasn’t willing to let go of, even to get a piece of herself back.

“And what would you do, Triana?” she asked. Her siblings stilled, totally silent.

The blonde’s jaw set tightly. Her body language was so rigid…

“I’m with Katarina on this one. We should leave right _away_.”

_…_

Getting to Piltover and Zaun was the easy part. The adjacent regions were barely a full day’s drive from the Institute of War.

From there to Shurima, though, transportation took a massive turn for the worst. The road only extended to a certain point; a small but wealthy town built around an oasis at the outer edges of the grand desert. The group was forced to spend the night there, planning on the fastest route to New Shurima and to the risen city’s ruins.

“Yes, this way is faster but _littered_ with Xer’Sai.” Cassiopeia explained, pointing on the map spread open on the table.

“Well, if they come, we’ll just fucking murder them.” Katarina stated simply. That was her solution to most of her problems. “We all have experience fighting Rek’Sai at the Rift. Can’t be too different and these are small fries in comparison.” She wasn’t wrong… but at the same time, she was.

Talon was quick to point it out. “Yes. We’re used to fighting _one_ void burrower at a time. There could be hundreds.” he said. It was common knowledge each one lay up to a dozen eggs. “And our camels aren’t as combat-ready as we are. If they die, our fast way is automatically rendered slow as _fuck_.”

“Speaking of ‘slow as _fuck’_. Did you miss the part about the sandstorm if we go the ‘safer’ route?” Katarina countered. “Good luck waiting for _that_ shit to let up.” It could be days.

Cassiopeia remained silent, deep in thought. She was aware her body could withstand both the hot and cold of the desert. The Xer’Sai would not be much of a problem for her claws and poison, either. Instead of dragging Katarina and Talon any further into danger, she could just go alone. It was the most time-efficient option. Except…

She didn’t know where in the nine hells the old empire _was_.

There was a reason she’d once paid Sivir a fortune and it wasn’t just for her good looks and dedicated group of mercenaries. Above protection, she’d needed a guide. She still did. 

“There’s also the issue of finding someone to get us to the risen city…” Cassiopeia commented.

Triana, who had been perfectly still by the window, gazing towards the general direction of New Shurima, tensed. She uncrossed her arms, slowly turning around.

“No worries on that. I can take us there.”

Cassiopeia didn’t doubt her when she said it like _that_ , though she couldn’t help but wonder where the unwavering certainty stemmed from. Last she checked, only a handful of people, most heads of travelling caravans, knew how to get to the damn place.

“I suppose that’s settled, then.” she nodded. “We had a long day. We should rest, for now. Let's talk about this tomorrow morning with a clearer head.”

Katarina and Talon eased back, reluctantly agreeing. They retreated to their rooms, while Cassiopeia and Triana wordlessly prepared for bed in theirs. The blonde kept stealing glances past the window, a dark cloud permanently around her eyes. If the noblewoman hadn’t been in a similarly stressed out condition, perhaps she would have inquired about how uncharacteristic it was. Perhaps it would have felt odd.

Each one of them hugged their own side of the sizable mattress, lost in their own heads.

Needless to say, nobody got much sleep that night.

…

They’d decided to go the riskier route, counting on Cassiopeia’s ability to tilt the scales in their favor should they be ambushed by burrowers.

Weirdly enough… not a single Xer’Sai approached.

The Serpent’s Embrace could feel them lurking nearby. She could hear them skittering under the sand, eager and tempted at the prospect of camel and human meat to satiate their endless hunger. And yet. It was almost as if something held them back. She’d like to think it was her, but she had her doubts.

New Shurima was just as she remembered. Dirt, sand, awful fashion sense, far too many scents and noise. Merchants at every conceivable corner. The houses, crammed together, most too small and short, blended with the surroundings, all so similar in structure and color it was near impossible to tell them apart.

Within five seconds they’d been approached by ten different people offering panaceas for all illnesses, questionable potions, even _more_ questionable, addictive spices. Katarina’s killer glares managed to get the point across they weren’t interested. At least, with her sister and brother there, there was no need for a small army of mercenaries to keep people at a distance.

_If only they were here the first time… maybe…_

Cassiopeia halted that line of thinking before it could get out of hand. She’d promised herself to not allow the past to creep in, or she wouldn’t be able to move another inch forward.

Once again, lime eyes fell to Triana.

To find her gazing upon New Shurima in –somehow— equal parts homesickness and disdain. It was clear the trip wasn’t doing her any good. Instead, it pitied her against her own demons, just like Cassiopeia. For a moment, she considered reaching out to touch her, to pull her closer –and how she _wanted_ her closer— but ultimately hesitated. Comfort wasn’t something she’d ever sought amidst her battles, ever needed, nor something she deserved. 

But.

She would thank Triana in every way imaginable for being by her side, when they got back.

The summoner had quickly gotten the supplies necessary for the final push to the old empire. She secured them at the sides of their camels and wasted no time in leading their way out into to the desert once more.

The sun was merciless, but there were many advantages to having a mage on the team. Triana used a simple spell to cocoon them in a bubble that rendered the heat bearable and provided some shade. Still, it felt like they’d been traveling forever.

Until.

The Sun Disk came into view, far in the distance.

A floating, massive golden ring above the ruins of past grandiose, reflecting the sunlight as though part of the molten star itself. It was enough to steal one’s breath away.

Cassiopeia was taken captive by the glorious sight yet blinked away the wonder, fast. That same fascination was what ruined her. The idea weighted heavily in her mind. 

Triana’s hands balled into white-knuckled fists as they finally stepped past the massive walls of the old Shurima. _It was true, after all._ Cassiopeia thought. _Azir’s power really did bring back the entire city…_

Yet it was a barren kingdom. Without people. Without soul. The crystal-clear running waters were pretty, but they had brought no _life_. And although from a distance Shurima looked perfect and complete, up close it was different. There were too many cracks, collapsed buildings and wreckage on the inside. Like a mirror once fractured into shards and hastily glued back together.

“This way.” Triana took a sharp turn.

They came to a stop before a ravaged temple. Pillars were leaning on each other like dominos. The ground felt unsteady. The blonde didn’t seem to mind as she navigated past the yard that once would have no doubt been absolutely beautiful.

Katarina and Talon followed without question, but Cassiopeia came to a sudden halt. The broken entrance Triana ducked into… the waters surrounding the temple and flowing through soft streams within it as though gathering the sacred grounds into their embrace…

_Have I seen this before…?_

It was all too _familiar_.

Cassiopeia moved to catch up to her family, but a piercing cry from the desert made her freeze up on the spot. A mix between a roar and an eagle’s screech, accented by that rumble –it was unmistakable.

_Rek’Sai is here?! But how?!_

She immediately ducked into the dark temple. “This isn’t good!” she warned.

“What’s wrong?” Talon walked over to check on her.

“Is Rek’Sai allowed out of the League?!”

Triana’s eyes rose to hers. “I don’t know. But we need to keep pressing forward.”

“Are you sure? That shouldn’t be possible.” Katarina asked her. It shouldn’t, but the Institute already had trouble keeping the beast contained in the past.

“I’m _sure_.”

Yet another thing to worry about for later. For the time being, what was most important was getting to the sceptre. A journey Xerath set them on, which had started to feel like more and more of a bad idea…

Triana walked into a side chamber and down a set of stairs. Then another… then another. About two levels down, a massive, sealed door blocked their path. The blonde walked to it and tried to open it with magic. It wouldn’t budge. She pushed. Still nothing.

A shuriman curse escaped her lips.

Cassiopeia joined her side and replaced Triana’s hands with her own against the ancient metal. Even for her, it took effort to break the lock open. Ahead of them, there wasn’t a single sliver of light. Gaping, chilly, eerie darkness stretched on.

Triana summoned a sizable fireball to her hand and crushed it in her fist, casting the embers into the dark. Almost immediately, braziers scattered all over the pitch-black corridor lit up in dim flames.

“Wow.” Katarina breathed.

Triana went to move in, but Cassiopeia grabbed her elbow and pulled her back. She’d seen one too many people get cut up in half by flying axes and other tricky traps in a similar situation. She’d been willing to risk other people then, but her lover was _not_ expendable.

“Hey. Easy.” she whispered. “I go first.”

Hazel eyes gave her a strange look. One torn between touched and pained.

The catacombs were exactly what their name suggested. Cassiopeia had had _enough_ of underground tombs. At several spots she had to stop just to remind her lungs how to work, because the panic attacks were a constant companion at that point. Her hands trembled, though she kept going.

There didn’t seem to be any traps.

Until she realized the whole place was a trap by _itself_.

A maze. 

“We’re— lost?” she dared ask.

“No, don’t worry. It only seems that way.” Triana’s hand came to rest on the small of her back, warming her cold skin. “No going back now. Just a little longer, trust me.”

_“Cassiopeia. Shouldn’t we turn back?” Sivir’s wide eyes and rapid breaths and the waver to her voice came back to her._

_“No. No, we’ve come too far.” her own glacial reply in return. “Just a little longer…”_

It could have been hours or days later that the walls finally started to seem different. There were engravings on them, intricate designs that told the tales of all the legendary heroes buried within the catacombs.

At the end of their trying journey was a large, round chamber, emitting a soothing blue light.

They were drawn to it like moths to flame. The light was a barrier, shutting off the final room. Beside it, at the connected palms of a statue with its head bowed in prayer was a white-hot needle, glowing with the same energy.

“I don’t know about this…!” Katarina exclaimed.

Cassiopeia triple-checked the statue for any hidden mechanisms. For poison. “No, it’s… it’s safe.”

“She means, _that_.” Talon pointed across the semi-transparent barrier, where Triana’s eyes were already firmly glued.

The next room was nothing more than a gaping hole, a blackness eventually leading to a cavity in the _far_ wall that housed what appeared to them as a mesmerizing gem. Black and gold glittered beneath it–

It was the sceptre.

And there was _no_ way to get there. The beginnings of what looked like a bridge were broken off, cast into the nothingness that Cassiopeia didn’t want to guess the actual depth of.

“Can you cross it?” Lime eyes pierced through Katarina’s emerald.

“I… I don’t know if I can shunpo that far...” she said. Talon swallowed hard.

“Open the seal so we can take a closer look.” Triana spoke.

“ _Fuck_ no! Don’t _touch_ that needle.” Katarina argued.

Cassiopeia was frozen with her palm hovering over the glowing blade. _Maybe there is a way. Maybe this is a test to see if we’re faint of heart. Then again… wasn’t the point of this to make sure nobody ever got the sceptre to begin with?_

_What do I do…?_

“Cass. Open it.” Triana half demanded and half pleaded.

She lowered her hand onto the needle.

…

It was strange;

In that moment Cassiopeia remembered where she’d seen the sanctuary before. Not in her own memories… but in someone else’s. The flaming grounds from Triana’s trauma bore an uncanny resemblance to the Sun Temple.

But it wasn’t just that.

In that instant frozen in time, a lot of things started to fall into place.

The way Triana had always behaved as if her tail was no big deal, nothing out of the ordinary. As though she’d grown up among half-humans, half-monsters. Cassiopeia had searched high and low for information on her, but the woman was a phantom. There were no birth records, no family to trace. Not even a rumor about her. All of that, added to the things the blonde had said when speaking of Shurima, as though she lived in an entirely different place from what Cassiopeia saw…

_“I wasn’t actually born in any existing city.”_

_“I will not betray you.”_

That devotion… what had she done to earn it?

Triana’s eyes had turned so _cold_ –a killer’s chilling glare— when the breaking news of the High Priestess' tomb’s excavation had come up on TV. Soon after, all archaeologists there were found dead. Directly after that, she’d been sick for days.

When Rek’Sai had frenzied and rushed to attack the noble… how did that thing really come to stop? All Triana had done was get in front of it and yell something out. And what was it she called the beast…?

_Nyel’Sai._

Did that not mean nightingale?

There was a text Cassiopeia could recall, talking about a nightingale weeping for what was lost within the sands of time. 

Not to mention how proud Triana had looked when she talked about the Mark of the Exalted, tattooed under her right eye. Then, how broken when she spoke of the other ink etched –truly etched, in every sense of the word— into her skin. There were eleven names on her back. The one at the top belonged to her mother. The others, written in colums…

Ten names. Ten ghosts that perished. Only one that was said to survive, in a tale Cassiopeia had once dismissed as fiction. Yet her eyes hadn’t been able to follow that ‘blink’ of a teleport Triana had managed, like an instant, rapid version of Katarina’s shunpo. Yet the seething hatred for Azir would make an awful lot of sense if that ‘tale’ somehow happened to be true.

Triana’s mother was assassinated.

The First of the Ghosts lost hers in a similar way.

They were wounded, beyond mentally. Burns that shouldn’t have been able to heal, unless…

 _“Unless, I suppose… one was a necromancer themselves?”_ Elise’s words on top of Nasus’:

 _“Because I am certain whoever made you think of her as a hero and the rightful Empress was misleading you, for she was none of those things.”_ He had said. _“A butcher of innocents. A traitor. A_ necromancer _.”_

And, finally.

The reoccurring nightmare Cassiopeia was having. The black figure that had leaned above her and helped take the fire away. She didn’t dare think it could be real. But Xerath was lying. There _had_ been another person locked away with him and Renekton. The very same one that looked down at her with ancient hazel eyes and said—

_“Mah seh’thir. Khalad.”_

My savior. Live.

It all went blank for Cassiopeia after that, her mind only able to conjure one word. Why.

_Why._

Why _?_

_The Firstborn child of Azir. The daughter of the Sun’s High Priestess. First of the Ghosts. The true last Empress of Shurima._

_Whose name was—_

“Why didn’t you tell me…?”

A drop of blood crashed onto the floor. Her voice shook in time with the barrier before it dissipated.

“…Asenath?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, this story is back from the war :D I worked so hard on this chapter, you have no idea. But an insane writer's block on how to proceed along with my job fking me up in very many ways led to this huge delay. I can't say it won't happen in the future, but I apologize that it did. On a side note, when you don't hear Katarina complain about the camels, you know she's mega focusing on the end goal only. And speaking of camels, just so there is no confusion, Cass doesn't have one for herself. Her tail lets her travel fast across the sand and she doesn't tire easily anyway. 
> 
> If you like my fics and you want to support me, the way how is on my Tumblr description (can't post any links here without violating Ao3 terms). That aside, I appreciate each and every one who took the time to kudo, leave me their thoughts, leave a DM, etc. You rock :)
> 
> Until next time, stay a w e s o m e!


	28. Finale

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FAIR WARNING: If blood and violence triggers you, this chapter isn't for you.

**[Asenath]**

“Asenath.”

She hadn’t heard her name uttered by any living being for centuries. To have it spoken right there, from _her_ , was both shocking…

And freeing.

Triana –no, that wasn’t who she was anymore— could not fathom how she figured it out. At the same time, she wasn’t surprised that Cassiopeia did. The woman was nothing short of a genius. She had a talent for uncovering things meant to stay buried beneath the sands.

A chuckle, both sad and amused, escaped her lips as the mask of pretend dropped and shattered onto the ground. She looked over her shoulder, at garnets finally regarding her for who and what she really was. Cassiopeia had known Triana intimately, but she didn’t know _her_.

It was probably for the better.

“So.” Asenath’s voice cracked the confused, loaded silence in the chamber. “Against all odds… you find me a second time.” She did not hide the admiration in her tone. “Thank you for saving me, Cassiopeia.”

The words were long overdue.

But that was the end of their moment.

Asenath turned all of her attention onto the sceptre, already calling at her from inside its prison. There was seemingly no way to it, for not even she could teleport that far. However, knowing her mother and the tricks often used by the Priestesses’ of the Sun Temple to test people’s faith…

She ‘blinked’ as far in and over the gaping floor as she could, calling sand to her hand in the process. When the grains were cast down, not all of them fell into the abyss. Some landed on the previously invisible platform below, revealing its shape, a narrow pathway leading straight to the godly artifact.

The Shuriman wasted no time. A powerful step onto the bridge propelled her right in front of the Eternum sceptre. Excitement pumped throughout her blood. _Finally, after looking for you everywhere, you are within my grasp...!_

The second her skin touched the rod, an all-consuming burn of power surged across her system. Like being injected with adrenaline and the most potent drug in the world at the same time, the possibilities opened before her were boundless. Her potential was _limitless_.

She had to ground herself before it could lead her to madness.

Asenath could feel the sceptre’s eagerness to shape reality as it once had... as well as its gnawing hunger. It had been left in the dark for far too long, its energy all but depleted. It wanted to absorb raw arcane to restore itself. It _needed_ to be powered up and their goals aligned.

Luckily, she knew just how to feed her new companion.

A red flash interrupted her planning. Katarina had shunpo‘ed to the middle of the now-semi-visible bridge, emerald eyes staring at her narrowed, cautious. “I don’t know what’s going on, Triana, but hand that thing over right now.” she demanded, not realizing that she was in no position to.

Asenath gave her an expressionless stare. “…I don’t think so.”

No sooner had the words left her mouth than Katarina teleported again. There was a glimpse of her stormy gaze, then nothing, until a telltale rush of air, followed closely by a blur, came right above the Shuriman.

The blonde didn’t so much as bat an eyelash.

As though a mind-reader, she lifted her free hand to the redhead’s exact strike point and snatched Katarina’s wrist mid-air. A set of jades went wide. The blonde did not take offense to the assassin underestimating her so severely.

“Surely…” she began, tightening her grip on the other woman’s pale wrist until it bordered on painful. The leather of her gloves creaked. “…you’re not attacking me with the same move that _I_ taught your family, are you?”

 _Well. Lesson number two._ Asenath’s eyes hardened as she used her own, original shunpo, the shadow step, to get behind the redhead before she’d even fully landed. A firm tug of the wrist still in her hold –and she tripped the redhead over the narrow edge. A certain –weak— part of her made sure Katarina had grabbed onto the ledge with one hand, before turning her attention onto the exit.

“So, what’s it gonna be, Talon?” Pressure was put onto his shoulders on purpose. “Big sis, or this old thing?” The Sceptre’s red orb flashed hypnotically in the darkness.

As Talon rushed forward, towards her, Asenath teleported past him. He wasn’t aiming for her to begin with and she would waste no further time with the Du Couteaus. She didn’t want to hurt them further, a traitorous little whisper added in the back of her mind.

Cassiopeia was the only one who could actually intercept her movements and block her way out… but she stood too frozen to even breathe, let alone stop her. Their eyes met for the briefest of moments as Asenath zoomed past her.

She tried to ignore the sensation of her heart plummeting to her stomach and breaking into tiny little pieces.

There wasn’t much left of it, anyway, she reasoned. 

…

Back at the entrance to the catacombs, Asenath paused for the briefest of moments.

She could destroy the archway and make sure the others couldn’t follow her, even when they eventually managed to leave the maze. But that would mean destroying a small portion of the Sun Temple, or what was left of it, as well. That would also mean… leaving Cassiopeia locked in a tomb, with her nightmares and post-traumatic stress disorder chipping away at her. 

And she couldn’t either of those things.

The sceptre urged for her not to show mercy, but she was not so easily influenced. A cold look was cast down at the artifact in her hands. One moment, it was magnificent; the most beautiful relic existing on earth, fallen straight from the heavens. The next, it was a terror, a thing of nightmares that foretold only destruction. In the gleam of its gem she saw pure madness, the death of a thousand innocents caught under its influence, across the eons.

 _Funny you should think a mere promise of owning the world will make me cave._ She thought. _…do you pass me for my father?_

Asenath did not care to change the world. Only Shurima.

Hasty steps led her outside. The transition from dark to stark sunlight momentarily blinded her.

The ground then rumbled. Rocks flew up and crashed into buildings, sprouting forth plumes of sand. Shiny purple scales slowly rose from the massive hole carved on the earth, until Rek’Sai was standing to her full height, glorious under the sun.

Her massive head turned to Asenath as the mage descended the steps of the temple. “I take it something has gone south for you to be here?” she asked.

An aggravated growl came in response.

“Of _course_ there has.” the blonde breathed. _It just couldn’t be that easy, could it? …Well, no matter._ Hazel eyes shifted towards the Sun Disk and the sceptre grew hungrier. “I need to get to the Dias.” she said. “Do you have my back?”

A deep roar.

“You can kill anyone who intervenes except the Du Couteaus.”

The Void Burrower offered a non-committal noise.

“I’m serious.” the blonde pressed. “Not a hair on their heads.”

Rek’Sai did not quite agree with the restrictions, but it was the closest to acceptance Asenath would get from the proud queen. She had a particular dislike towards Cassiopeia for reasons the necromancer could not explain, yet their bond ran deeper than any bad blood with the noble. Centuries had passed, though one thing hadn’t changed; Nyel’Sai would sooner eat one of her own limbs than hurt her.

The pair dashed through the main street, one above ground, the other below, all the way towards the grand, golden palace looming in the distance. A lone figure blocked her path, far ahead. The mage slowed down to a stop.

“That is far enough, Asenath.” Nasus’ voice boomed like thunder.

Tan fingers gripped tighter at the sceptre. “Well. This sure brings back memories.” she said, voice a low, deadly sound. _But you won’t stop me this time,_ dog _._ “Where’s dear big brother to lecture me about honor, this time, though?” she challenged. “Oh, right. He barely even remembers who _he_ is, let alone who _I_ am.”

“You haven’t changed a bit.” Nasus replied, ever stoic and calm. Asenath was still confident she’d gotten underneath that armor, stripped away some of that inhuman patience. “Even if Renekton was here, you have no honor for him to appeal to.”

“I am my father’s daughter, after all.” Asenath replied without a hint of shame.

Then… steps came from behind her.

Heavy. Authoritative.

She recognized the clicking sound of _that_ armor. _That_ walking pattern.

“Then it is my responsibility for what you have become.” _His_ voice addressed her after eons. The last time she’d heard it—

The mage felt bound in a court room once more, chocking from rage, from injustice. Looking up at her father to punish those who’d ruined her as guards’ gauntlets dug into her shoulders to keep her down… only to have him side with the very woman who orchestrated her mother’s death. Her disfigurement.

All the trust she put in him, scorched into acrid _betrayal_.

“ _Responsibility_ ….?” Wasn’t a husband’s and a father’s first responsibility to his family?

The sceptre burned along with her. It found an emotion it needed and latched onto it like a leech. They could kill him together, it promised. All she had to do was let it take over. It took all of Asenath’s willpower to resist.

“You don’t know the first thing about that word, _se fez althel’zov_!” she spat. _You fucking coward._ Finally, she turned to face him. But Azir was… awfully unmoved.

Awfully… detached.

“You can’t go against two Ascended warrior-Gods, Asenath. Hand it over.” he said her name, but it almost seemed foreign to him. Through his falcon-shaped helmet, green eyes were focused only on the sceptre.

And Asenath understood.

“You don’t remember me… do you?”

“Hand over the sceptre.” he evaded. Repeated.

“…Do you remember Sazriel?” That got a visible rise out of him. Shoulders tensed as though ran through by an electrical current. His staff was held in a death grip.

Another voice cut in. This time, floating from above, Xerath addressed her. “Asenath. Fret not. Hand me the sceptre and I will power it with my own energy. It’ll be enough to _obliterate_ them.”

 _And then what?_ She thought darkly. It was sad, but Xerath lost her faith about as much as Azir had, when he decided to eavesdrop on her conversation with her mother. No, she couldn’t trust either of them. She couldn’t trust anybody. This time, she was fighting alone.

“You won’t move fast enough.” Nasus warned, his withering ground already forming around her, stripping her of her strength, of her speed.

 _Almost alone._ Asenath smirked to herself.

“All of you, watch closely, now.” she said. “I’ll give you something you won’t soon forget.”

Her foot stomped on the ground –the signal was given.

And from the depths of the earth burst forth Rek’Sai, in a volcanic eruption of rocks and sand. A deafening howl brimming with primal rage, one that was the very embodiment of what Asenath felt, pierced the air.

The mage had been prepared and didn’t lose her footing. Rather, she braced herself and used Nyel’Sai’s scales, while the beast pushed them both high in the air, as a stepping point. A good amount of mana was channelled into the next shadow step. Aided by the power of the sceptre, she teleported a record two hundred meters away.

Behind her, there was a cloud of smoke.

Asenath would love to see her burrower step all over her opposition, but she kept her eyes set on the prize. The way to the palace was open.

She ran.

…

Asenath had made it to the front steps, when she sensed danger from _both_ sides.

Hazel eyes flew wide as twin slashes came, missing her neck by inches, only because she’d reflexively pushed her body back. Katarina and Talon were there and she barely had the time to wonder _how_. From the icy look in their eyes, it was two assassins after her, not two former friends.

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” she hissed, narrowly dodged Talon’s next strike. Katarina’s was faster, but she twisted her body away enough for the blade to lightly graze her collarbone.

A burst of energy pushed the two champions back, giving her precious breathing space. She could not afford to let herself be slowed down by the Du Couteaus, even if it meant sacrificing a hefty amount of mana.

Asenath crouched and slammed her palm onto the ground. In the brief millisecond it took the assassins to regain their footing and come at her, she considered what their weaknesses were. Once she’d pinpointed that, it was easy to select the two shadows out of her warriors that would have an inherent advantage.

“Kasiya, Nassor… _rise_.”

The necromancer didn’t move, but Katarina’s blade was blocked by Kasiya’s sickle, while Talon’s wrist was snatched in Nassor’s claws. They were her second most unpredictable shadow and her fastest one. Blood swelled from the male champion’s forearm, licking across his gauntlet to drip-drop on the heated sand.

Katarina sharply twisted to create an opening into Asenath, but Kasiya kicked her away.

“Enjoy yourselves.” Asenath said as she ducked under Talon’s imprisoned arm and dashed up the stairs. Up the first fifty, she became painfully aware of the range of her shadows.

She could not go into the palace and take the normal route to the Dias. That would mean letting her warriors dissipate into sand once more and the two assassins after her would surely catch up. Hazel eyes rapidly scanned her surroundings for anything she could use.

_Think… think!_

Then the idea struck her. She could scale the wall right up.

Vertically, she could get much closer to her destination while still keeping her connection to her warriors. By the time she had to let them go, Katarina and Talon should not have enough time to stop her. That was if her own assassins did not tire them out completely, or injure them enough to immobilize them.

 _You idiots. Should I have just dumped that ceiling on your heads…?!_ Frustration threatened to overtake her, though she kept it under control. Emotions had rendered her life more difficult than it had to be, but it was not the end of the world. She could still—

Rek’Sai’s warning roar came from the distance. Asenath knew the burrower no longer had Azir, Nasus and Xerath trapped.

She just couldn’t catch a damn break.

The first shadow-step took her to the lowest ledge of the palace’s first floor. The next, almost to the second…

 _“Watch out!”_ Kasiya’s voice roared in her head, as Katarina’s thrown sword zoomed past her neck, cutting her, though not deeply. It clanked against the wall, but both assassins knew the redhead could use that to extend her shunpo range—

A heel connected with Asenath’s middle, sending her clean off the second floor. “Mother _fucker_.” she cursed at Katarina, whose lip curled into a smirk as arrogant as it was angry.

“Told you, didn’t I?” the other woman growled. “If you hurt my sister, you’re _dead_.”

She did say it. And boy, did she mean it.

Both of them slashed and clawed at each other as they fell, until the blonde managed to slip a hit into Katarina’s pretty face. She didn’t know how the insufferable champion managed to grit her teeth through it and shove the spiked part of her boot into her forearm. The one holding the sceptre.

Asenath cried out –and her fingers reflexively opened.

Hazel eyes watched, mortified, as the relic broke away from her. She couldn’t trace its descent for long, however, because if she gave Katarina an opening there was not a single doubt in her mind the redhead would let her live through it. They pushed off each other milliseconds before the eventual crash.

Nassor leapt to catch Asenath, while the other woman hit the ground ungracefully. That would definitely leave a mark, but the momentum of the fall had been redirected enough that she wouldn’t break any bones. Talon turned away from his opponent for barely a heartbeat to make sure she was okay—

And Kasiya slashed at the back of his leg and waist.

His sickle raised to finish him;

“Enough.” Asenath commanded. “He’s no longer a threat to me.”

Frantic hazel looked around for the Eternum artifact.

A chill went down her spine when she found it floating in the air beside a being of runic stone and raw energy. When her gaze locked with Xerath’s piercing blue.

“Looking for this, perhaps…?”

…

It was no longer in her grasp. And Xerath could get to the top much faster than she could.

Katarina screwed her over so thoroughly Asenath felt like turning back and stabbing her through the damn middle for it. Once again, she had been too close, only to _fail_.

_Is there anything I can do…?_

Her mind ran a mile per second. She was at around thirty percent of her mana reserves without the sceptre, a number too low for comfort. Sixty, if she could get it back in her hand. In the meantime, she was forced to dismiss her costly shadows. They couldn’t help her against Xerath, anyway. The problem was, there weren’t many things that _could_.

Taking him by surprise had been her one ticket to victory. After that was burned, though…

Asenath did not have to think about it further.

In an unprecedented stroke of luck, a sand soldier that did not belong to her rose behind Xerath and pierced through his glowing chest. Azir’s energy messing with his own had the stones closing in on him, trapping the magus like that, utterly motionless, impaled.

Without a second thought, she teleported for the sceptre.

Her fingers brushed the gold and obsidian handle… until a wall risen from the sand knocked the very breath from her lungs.

When hazel eyes blinked open, it was to realize, in absolute horror, Azir now held the godly relic. That was quite possibly the worst scenario out of all of them. Tan fingers dug into the ground. She would rather slice at her own throat than let the fallen emperor decide Shurima’s fate.

She wasn’t the only one opposed to the idea of him holding such power.

Xerath sent a blast of blue fire his way. It made him raise his arm to defend himself long enough for Katarina to teleport behind him and grab at the sceptre. She was successful –but didn’t have the strength required to pry it from his fingers.

At least, not alone.

When Asenath came down between them like a thunderclap, Azir was faced with two options. He’d either lose his arm or let go of the sceptre. Wisely, he chose the latter.

Katarina shunpo’ed away with the artifact in hand. Hazel eyes traced her movements, then caught on Xerath’s, flying wide when he raised his arm to aim another incinerating blast…

“ _No_!” Asenath howled and ‘blinked’ to Katarina’s back like a human shield.

She barely had time to call forth a shadow to protect them both. The edges of her elbows still suffered minor burns.

Katarina was forced on her knees from the heat. She cast a look over her shoulder that asked ‘ _why_?’

Asenath lied to herself that it was simply to ensure she’d be the one to get the sceptre. Except, in truth, that would be a much easier task if the redhead was ashes beside it, rather than a stubborn asshole holding onto the thing. While Azir found the opportunity to turn onto Xerath with all his might, the necromancer took a moment to catch her breath.

Then she spun in a kick that knocked Katarina unconscious.

Tired but determined, Asenath took the Eternum sceptre in her hand.

“Give me… a boost.” she huffed breathlessly at her most devoted shadow, Abraxas. He gave a nod.

As her feet finally touched the second floor’s ledge and entered the palace, she urged her aching body to keep moving forward.

_Just a little longer…_

**[Azir]**

No wonder she was his daughter. She was as headstrong as she was resourceful.

Azir would admire her, in a different life. In a life where she hadn’t butchered his wife and their unborn child, where she hadn’t driven a blade across his son’s neck. In a life where she wasn’t a filthy necromancer and an even more heinous traitor to her empire.

Yes, he did not remember her. He did not remember why she went to such extremes. But he could also not think of a _single_ cause that could justify all the atrocities she had committed in the name of her vengeance.

He’d loved her mother with _everything_ that he was. So how was it possible for their daughter to have fallen so far…?

Nasus had caught up to him and trapped Xerath in combat. Azir checked around for the troublesome humans –they had been neutralized, as well. And since that void beast could not follow into the palace… all that remained was Asenath and him.

She was fast, but the Emperor had his soldiers to propel him to the top.

They reached uppermost ground, the Ascension Dias closest to the massive Sun Disk, at the same time. The grand altar was at the middle, between them, waiting to be activated after centuries. Azir’s mind filled with memories surrounding the construct.

_His frail human body trembled with anticipation… for soon, he would become an immortal God._

_Surely, if the Emperor was not worthy, then nobody was. He hid his fear behind a mask of bravado. This was a moment that should not be clouded by such emotions. He would not die. He would_ Ascend _._

_There was nothing to be afraid of, he repeated to himself._

_Not with his wife there, who would soon give birth to their second child. A son or daughter that would open her eyes to gaze upon a godly being. Not with his childhood friend at his back, his brother, Xerath. Not with his son not too far away, beside his own wife and with his most trusted advisors one level below._

_It was a day of celebration._

_Even if something was missing._

_The ritual began. The Sun Disk’s outer shell parted to reveal the crystalline eye within, which channelled a concentrated beam of sunlight onto the round altar ahead. Azir awaited for the right moment to step into it, after the beam had stabilized and the priests’ chanting was complete._

_Until— Xerath walked up to him, uttering quiet, yet simultaneously deafening words: “_ Azir _._ _You burned everyone who trusted you, you know? Everyone who loved you. Now, I think… it is only fitting if your turn has come to_ burn _.”_

_And just like that…_

_His brother cast him into the sun’s flames._

Asenath regarded him much the same way.

Like she wanted him to burn.

“It ends here.” he said, a grave finality to his voice.

Azir called forth all the power Ascension had granted him and summoned a small army of soldiers at his sides. She could not win. She lacked the numbers and she lacked the strength. It was already over. _It’s over._

Asenath’s knuckles went white around the sceptre. “It’s good that it has come to this.” her voice was a hoarse, ominous sound. “Fitting. Almost poetic, if you think about it…”

Her right eye shifted into an inhuman, piercing green; its pupil twisted into a serpentine slit. A network of black veins broke out across the entirety of that side, both on her face and the rest of her body. The necromancer was showing her true colors.

Asenath’s shade fractured, as though it was cut with a blade. Tendrils slipped out towards her sides from it, rising into ten shadows growing more solid by the minute. The way they held themselves… the weapons they each carried… they were familiar to Azir.

Another memory sprung to mind.

_“Don’t get too attached to slaves, Asenath.”_

_“They are slaves no longer, father.” she said with that brilliant, cocky grin. She really was her mother’s daughter. Shurima’s shining beauty personified. “They’re my assassins.”_

_Her assassins, who were taken away from chain and whip to fight by her side. Much like Xerath and himself. Her assassins, who worshipped her as they worshipped the sun. Who would die a thousand deaths to defend her honor._

_Her assassins… who he sentenced to death for doing just that._

A cold sensation crawled up Azir’s stomach, to wrap around his lungs.

Soldiers and assassins crashed into each other. The Emperor quickly realized he had been overly confident, moments prior. While his sand warriors were no more than dirt given form and direction by his power, hers were different. Less in numbers, yet no mere husks. They retained their fighting styles and personalities. They could act individually, without requiring her direction.

Asenath stepped onto a soldier’s pauldron and leapt straight for the Emperor. 

Another foreign feeling gripped at Azir as he swung his sceptre to cleave her, though she teleported left just in time to avoid it. He tried discerning what the emotion was as he blocked her next strikes with his golden armor. She knew she could not pierce it –she was aiming for his joints.

When she came too close, the energy-blade in her hand catching at the very edge of his throat, he realized what the sensation was;

 _Fear_.

His pride protested with a howl. There was no way a god would fear a necromancer. But half his attention had to be on his sand soldiers –while all of hers was on him– his massive pool of mana expended _rapidly_ to regenerate their numbers as the shadows tore them apart like frenzied hellhounds. If he tried to conserve any, those risen warriors would rip him to shreds.

His best option was to tire her out.

Surely, her assassins were just as costly to maintain.

Surely… she would run out of mana first.

_But what if she doesn’t?_

Another slash he too narrowly avoided. If one of his attacks landed on Asenath that would be the end of the fight, considering his far superior strength… yet she was too damn fast. A bleeding neck and arm did not seem to slow her down in the slightest. Above her ten wraiths… she was the deadliest fiend.

And the craziest.

Rather than avoiding his next attack, as he’d expected, she raised the Eternum sceptre to rush _into_ it, using the indestructible artifact as a shield for his staff’s edge to grind past.

Azir howled in pain.

The golden staff clattered on the ground.

When his gaze drifted down, the Eternum sceptre’s black point had been driven into his shoulder. He was certain he’d turned so it hit his armor –and a better look confirmed that he _had_.

In stark horror –and Asenath’s pure _glee_ — the Emperor realized the relic had pierced straight through his golden plates.

The black veins spread further over her body, even to her ‘untainted’ side. Up close… that looked…

Hurtful.

Asenath’s arm trembled. Beads of sweat were rolling down her temple and neck. Her breathing was erratic. Azir was nearly out of mana and now defenceless against her strikes, but she was faring no better. Her body could only take so much stress. Without the sceptre, she would have long collapsed. Yet even with it, for as long as she didn’t give into its beckoning to take over, she was breaking _down_.

It was only a matter of who would cave first.

Azir’s soldiers faltered. So did the shadows. The Emperor grabbed at the sceptre with his uninjured arm, pushed it slowly out of his shoulder and Asenath back along with it. She ‘blinked’ again; and drove the point into his middle. This time, he was prepared for the burn. He only grunted and held his ground.

“Do you know how it felt when you chose your precious new family over me that day…?” she asked through gritted teeth.

The blade inside him was twisted and pushed deeper.

“It felt like _this_.”

_Seakir was a good boy. Hardworking. Fair. One day, he would grow to become a great Lord. And yet… every time Azir looked at him, he could not bring himself to utter any sort of praise. He tried –half-headedly succeeded, at times, though his son could tell how forced it was— but there was always something stopping him. A lump stuck in his throat. A thorn. Seakir was good._

_But he was not_ Asenath _._

_Because she was beyond compare, beauty and power bestowed freely by the Gods, born to be Shurima’s Empress. She was Azir’s true legacy, the biggest gift the almighty Sun had blessed him with. All else paled in comparison to the swell of pride that filled his chest every time she entered the palace, victorious._

Always _victorious._

_Verenir was a good wife. Elegant and fine like a decorated blade; smelling of the highest quality lotions and aromatics from her home region of Assaxia. She was warm and inviting with him, but there was an underlying, imperial coldness to her the rest of the time that didn’t sit as well with Azir as it should. Verenir was good for him._

_But she was not Sazriel._

_Unlike with Seakir, the problem with her was…_

_She knew it, too._

Completely drained of mana, Azir’s soldiers crashed onto the floor in a trillion grains of sand. Asenath’s warriors dissipated into nothingness.

The sceptre dug even deeper.

_Azir stood frozen before his throne._

_Asenath had gone against his orders, attacked their closest allied region and brought him its ruler’s severed head. The head… of his wife’s step brother. As if that wasn’t enough, she’d tried slitting Verenir’s throat. And yet, all the Emperor was thinking was how to get her out of that mess, rather than punish her. His image was important, but not as important as her._

_In that moment, in those hazel eyes constricted with utter hatred, he could see all the things he did wrong as a father._

_All the things he didn’t do._

_Asenath lost her mother, but he had been too lost in his own grief to comfort her in hers. She lost her beauty, literally half her face burned away by acid. He hadn’t_ _wanted her to see him cry –an Emperor shed no tears to anyone but himself— so he avoided looking at her._

_He couldn’t stand to exist while his first love’s murderer was out there living his best life, couldn’t stand the lack of clues on the assassin, so he’d jumped on the opportunity to execute the first person who rose to claim he’d done it. Never once stopped to listen to Asenath saying it wasn’t him, either._

_Azir told her it was over because he had needed it to be so. That she was to search no more. With her right hand burned as deeply as her face, she could no longer fight with her Ghosts. So, he’d essentially stripped her of any outlet for her rage… and wasn’t it only natural that she would turn to something as dark as necromancy in result?_

_Xerath had been there for his daughter when he neglected her._

_And it all circled back to that assault in the palace._

_“Ask her! Ask her why she would have the Lord of Assaxia –her step_ brother! _— murder my mother and mutilate the future Empress!” Asenath roared into the chamber. “_ Ask _her –and let me kill the_ whore _when she lies to your face!”_

_Azir had turned to his wife, unbreathing._

_Verenir, fingers still around her bleeding throat, leaned into his ear._

_“I did what I had to for my own family, you see?” The Emperor’s fingers spasmed with the urge to murder her, himself. “Now my son will be Emperor. Now I’m your only one. You can kill me, of course… but that would mean killing our unborn child, too. I’m pregnant, my love.”_

_Azir numbly looked back down onto Asenath’s wide eyes._

_“Isn’t it far easier to make an example of these former slaves, who acted against you? This way, you no longer have to worry about the rest of them and their recent, laughable demands for rights.” she said. “Asenath will live. You can make sure of it. You’re the Emperor, after all…”_

_Some Emperor he was._

_…_

_‘fez althel’zov’,_ Asenath had called him. And she was right.

_Fucking coward._

Azir summoned the last of his strength to slap the Eternum sceptre out of Asenath’s hand, for her own good, rather his own. It clanked heavily and hissed as it slid along the now-uneven floor.

Aseanth was not done, though.

She tackled him to the ground, fist cracking against his gold helmet. It hurt her perhaps more than it harmed him, but she was relentless.

“You don’t know how long I’ve waited for this moment!” Another hit. “To finally see you getting what you deserve, after all those years!” Hit. “All those years of leaving my mother to raise me _alone_. Then offering me a place in the palace beside your new family as an afterthought, as if I’d take your pity!”

Red imprints were left on his helmet from her knuckles.

“Empty words is all you ever were!” Hit. “About how much you cared. About what you’d do for us! You didn’t do shit when it really mattered!” Hit. “Where were you at my mother’s funeral? Where were you during my surgery?!” Hit.

Her knuckles cracked. She did not stop.

“What did that bitch tell you to trade for us?!”

Smash.

“I’ll erase every record of you from our history with the sceptre and all those who believe in you will _die_ with you!”

Azir grabbed her hand on the next strike. Asenath was right… but she had to be stopped. She was many things, but a mass murderer should not have to be one of them. The Emperor turned them around, his claws digging into her throat. He had to put an end to her for Shurima –and then he could put an end to himself.

He had to.

Azir squeezed. Asenath could not breathe. Whatever strength remained left her body. Her right eye reverted to normal, the veins drawing back until they had vanished from her sun-kissed skin.

But his grip faltered. Something, coming from within, was splitting his chest in two.

His vision blurred with tears that soon ran down his bloodied helmet. They splashed on the crimson-stained floor, by the blonde's ear. 

_Sazriel…? What am I doing…?_ he asked himself. ... _Killing our little girl...?_

The Emperor’s grip opened. Asenath surprised him yet again when she sprung forward, driving a weak blast into the crack left in his armor. Azir was thrown far back, hitting the ground like a ragdoll.

She fought to stand. It was a wonder that she even managed it.

Broken, she stumbled towards the sceptre.

**[Asenath]**

He was too late.

His tears were two thousand years too late.

She would see her mission through, no matter what. She would bring back everything he took from her and more. If only she could will her body to the Eternum sceptre…

But another shadow loomed over it, first.

Hazel eyes froze when fingers and claws alike closed around the rod. A pair of expressionless lime eyes stared across the altar, into her own.

_Cassiopeia._

From the opposite side, Azir had gotten up. Asenath had no mana left, not even for one last shadow step. It took all of her strength to even stay conscious. Her feet hardly supported her. If Cassiopeia decided to hand the relic over to Azir, she had no way of stopping her or him.

And it made sense, didn’t it? It was right, in a way, that after how hard she fought to get to the finish line, it would be the person who saved her –the person she lied to for months— who would also be the end of her.

Despite everything, part of Asenath wanted to laugh at how it all came down. 

They’d all gotten so fucking messed up trying to claim the sceptre. And there Cassiopeia stood –having strolled in like the perfect noblewoman she was, not even a speck of dust on her clothes— after the battle was over, simply picking the thing up from the ground.

“So.” she spoke up, examining the artifact. “It was all for this, hm.” Her voice betrayed _nothing_. No sadness, no interest, no hint of what she’d do next.

“Give it to me, Du Couteau.” Azir panted underneath his falcon helmet. “You cannot use it, but I can. I promise, I will turn you back to the way you were.”

“He’s lying.” Asenath said. “It can only realize two commands with the Sun Disk’s current power. He’ll wish for Shurima to be the way he envisions –and for the relic’s destruction. No room for you there.”

Cassiopeia’s gaze snapped to hers, still with that same glacial detachment. “And won’t you do the same thing?”

Asenath could not bring herself to lie to her again. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t.” The noblewoman looked between the two fallen Shurimans. Then, she said: “Come a little closer, Asenath.”

The blonde limped over to her, until Cassiopeia motioned to stop, a good few meters between them. “This would make you happy?” she asked, in the same way one would ask about the weather.

Asenath was almost certain she was taking her sweet time for vengeance. Bringing her closer, only to throw the sceptre at Azir, directly across from them. Her former lover could be vindictive like that… and it was part of her charm.

“Yes.” Asenath nodded, played along for her.

“Okay.” Cassiopeia nodded.

And she cast the sceptre to her. Casually, carelessly, like tossing a pen.

Asenath almost didn’t catch it from the shock.

“Go on, take your happiness, then.” Azir moved towards them, but Cassiopeia blocked his path. In that condition, there was no way he was ever getting around her.

Asenath wanted to ask why.

Her fingers –and the rest of her— were numb as she raised the blood-red jewel high, watching it commune with the Sun Disk and commanding it to open up. The crystalline eye within reflected a circle of raw sunlight onto the altar… and all that was left to do was walk into it with the sceptre in hand.

_Just walk into the circle of pure fire… easy, right?_

Asenath did not let doubt cloud her mind.

She cast Cassiopeia one last look over her shoulder –and entered the sun’s flames.

Until the moment she stood within, burning but not burning away, part of her had feared she would simply dissipate to nothingness. The sceptre drew all the power it needed and hummed in her grasp. It urged to be given a command, an image, a description, of what it should do.

Asenath had pictured that moment many times. She never pictured her mind would be empty when it became reality. Yet there she was, a blank canvas. With all her rage for Azir finally let out in one volcanic explosion, the tears that had previously crashed down by her ear suddenly echoed too loud in her head. Her warriors were there, in her mind, surrounding her, promising to always be with her, but not asking to come back to life.

Her thoughts travelled to her mother, then.

 _“I_ _t is a power that should not exist.”_ she had said. _“I trust you with it.”_

She trusted her… to make sure the madness of the scepter never claimed another soul. She trusted her not to kill off a few hundreds to gain a few other hundreds back from the dead. She trusted her to keep her pain to herself and not extend it onto others, to be Shurima’s Empress for what it was and not what she wanted it to be. Asenath thought back on her brief talk with Ashe… and it felt like she finally understood.

_I wish for Cassiopeia Du Couteau’s transformation to be undone, without her powers taken away._

The Eternum sceptre’s jewel glowed brilliantly, blindingly.

_And I command…_

_The sceptre’s destruction._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUYS! A long looooong time has passed since the start of this story and I am immensely proud to see it to the end. (There is another wind-down chapter after this, in my typical style, dealing with the aftermath) I want to give a HUGE thank you to everyone who dropped a comment and a kudo and hit me up on Tumblr. You cannot imagine how much your support helped. Keep doing this for all artists/writers whose works you like, because trust me, it means the world to us. 
> 
> That being said, there was a loooot of action this chapter holy shit. I wanted a real freaking battle to close things off, so yeah, it was a challenge for myself, as well. 
> 
> Now, for my NEXT story (might take a little break after finishing this monstrosity but I'll be back soon. Or maybe too soon depending on my work and how tired I am) I want YOU guys to PLEASE tell me who you'd prefer. I wanna write, eventually, about Kayle, Kalista, Lissandra and Elise. Right now, Lissandra's tale is the most ''complete'' in my mind, followed by either Elise or Kayle. But I'm torn so gimme thoughts. 
> 
> I love you all. Stay awesome!

**Author's Note:**

> Drop a comment, tell me your thoughts :)


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